Of Ghosts & Liars
by BeyondFloating
Summary: Isabel is a treasure hunter who gets more than she bargains for, when her and her team find a coffin chained shut in a crypt. An empath with the ability to not only sense things around her but to see the memories of whatever she touches - she crosses paths with the King of Vampires himself and finds herself unwittingly involved in a dispute for the throne of darkness.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi All! Here's a new Castlevania fic that I've been working with in my head for a very long time. This fic is going to be rated M for mostly gore and some sexy bits later on. Leave me a review if you enjoy!**

* * *

" _You belong to_ me _now."_

Shattered memories - or dreams, she wasn't sure - rushed through her mind.

Pain seared through her as something tore through her chest - a stabbing, wrenching feeling. _Like a knife. Or a sword._ A voice that sounded both empty and forlorn joined the pain.

" _This is how it must be."_

Isabel woke with a start, and grumbled as she buried her head into her pillow. More nightmares. More half-memories. Her phone was chirping its little heart out with its' default alarm noise, blissfully unaware of how badly Isabel wished she could just keep sleeping.

Never mind the fact it was 2pm.

Well, she _did_ have a gig that night that started at half past midnight. So, there was that excuse.

Screw it.

Snooze it was.

* * *

Her boots crunched against the loose gravel of the cemetery path. The moon was almost full, so she left her flashlight in her coat pocket for now. She'd need it well enough later, she imagined.

Cemeteries at night always fascinated her. Public opinion was that they were the thing of nightmares and children's ghost stories. But really, they just seemed quiet to her. Rarely anybody - or anything - up and about. Tonight was no exception. It was almost silent except for the occasional rustle of the wind in the trees and creak of branches. Not even any animals could be heard. It was quiet.

Well, except for her and her 'coworkers.'

Unafraid of the local police, as Tex would have paid them off by now, a standard windowless white van was parked in the center of the cemetery path, the back doors thrown open and the overhead light on. The van was filled with equipment of all kinds - electronics, contraptions for excavation and cave-exploration - some scuba gear, depth finders - and an assortment of weapons.

Hunched over the back of the van, using the aisle of the cluttered van as a worktable, was a familiar figure. Sparks flashed in the night from in front of him, resembling a MIG welder, if smaller.

"Hey Eric," she said as she walked up.

He turned - and smiled, pushing his heavily tinted 'welding goggles' on top of his head.

"Hey Izzy," he greeted back, then paused. "More nightmares?"

Isabel looked quizzically at her long-time friend. His scruffy, now-somewhat-greying hair belying his age, even if his demeanor didn't. A precision screwdriver was forever tucked behind his ear.

Isabel scoffed. "Jesus, do I honestly look that bad?"

"Huh? Oh! No! Not what I meant! You just. You get a look. When you -"

"When I look like shit." She finished for him playfully.

"No! Oh, never mind," Eric gave up with a sigh, sensing the impending loss.

"And yes, you're right, I did have more nightmares."

"Any idea who's they were?" he asked in response without even looking up from his work. Isabel wasn't an idiot - she understood electronics more than the average person ('by osmosis' she credited it, having been around Eric for far too many years) but she paled in comparison to him. Whatever he was working on looked like a lot of nonsense, and she knew better than to ask. She'd get a two hour response that wouldn't get her any closer to figuring it out.

"No clue," Isabel responded, leaning up against the back of the van. "Probably a corpse," she winced. "Those are the worst."

"Eghk. I can imagine," he said as he turned back to his gadget that he was repairing. "The others are already at the gate. We got through the first bit without you - since Tex and Adam don't wait. And, y'know, they had bolt cutters."

Isabel snickered and shook her head. Yeah, that sounded like them. "So… I got your text. $250k for a vault break-in? That doesn't seem that big of a deal to call a last-minute gig."

Eric looked up from his job and looked at her with a grin. "No, Izzy - $250k. Each."

Izzy blinked. "Oh. That's… A different story." _A million dollars for a vault break?!_ "Who the hell's our client? And why in such a rush?"

"Adam's been talking to the client. They're like… four people down the chain from some high-end jewelry and antique weapons dealer… Apparently that thing in there is a holy grail for him." Eric turned back to his work, dropped his goggles over his eyes, and went back to 'flash soldering' as he called it. It was his own invention. Really it just seemed to send sparks and bits of solder everywhere, but he was proud of it.

Isabel looked away as to not ruin her night vision. "As long as it isn't _actually_ the holy grail, fine." She sighed. "Well, that explains the lack of notice… Alright. I'll go catch up."

Turning from the van, she looked up at the mausoleum Eric had parked in front of. It was grandiose, to say the least. Built into the side of a cliff that dominated the sprawling property, it clearly had been intent on making a statement. Columns soared up to what had likely once been a stained glass window - now only the marble filigree details remained. The curling, carefully etched work would have split the stained glass window into a rose with a cross dominating the center.

The cemetery dated far back into the 18th century, but this mausoleum was clearly dreamed up by some Victorian high-class family. Nobody spent money like the Victorians. Walking up to the gate, she could see what Eric had meant. This kind of mausoleum had been designed to be visited frequently by the mourning survivors. The main room had two benches, several stands for vases to be filled with flowers. But those survivors were now long dead and forgotten as well, and no one came to remember those who only had money to show for their names. A rusty iron gate, once frequently used, had been padlocked by the groundskeepers to keep hooligans at bay. But now, the chain was tossed aside, clearly freshly clipped by a large pair of bolt cutters.

Nudging the lock with her boot, she smirked. "What's a little B&E between friends?" she echoed Tex's favorite phrase. She could almost hear Adam's frequent retort: 'We're treasure hunters, _not_ looters.'

Isabel let out a small half-sigh, looking up at the grid of marble rectangles along each wall - each carefully inscribed with a name, a date, and a phrase to remember them by. Each vault was decorated with a smaller wrought-iron vase - the flowers placed there long since rotted away.

It was moments like these, in the quiet bits between jobs, that she always reflected on what the _hell_ she was doing here. Tex, Adam, Eric, and Isabel. 'The Muscle,' 'The Scholar,' 'The Nerd,' and 'The Freak,' in that order. She sarcastically smirked to herself. Eric had given her the monicker, as he had given the others. He was always want to joke that they were the 'worst D&D party _ever._ No healer or a mage.'

Treasure hunters. Looters for hire. That's what they were. And, to be frank - they were the best. They were never without a job, and they were often booked up far in advance. Which is why this particular job struck her as odd - but now knowing the price tag, it wasn't so shocking. It's not like the dead guy was _going_ anywhere in a rush. But rich people don't think far in advance. They don't have to.

Isabel turned her attention to a large opening in the floor - another 'in ground' crypt that the boys had pried open. The marble lid was set aside, and instead of a coffin, a set of stairs. Clever, but not unique. They had seen this before. Light was streaming up from the hole in the ground.

Making her way down the marble steps, she ducked under a row of stones as she made her way down into a large antichamber. The way forward was blocked by a large, fierce looking door with no handles, and no lock.

"Hey Izzie! Just in time," she heard the drawl from her friend where he stood, leaning up against the wall - clearly bored. "Egghead is stuck."

"Tex," she greeted back, and reached out to shake his hand. He reached forward, flinched as he double-checked to make sure she was wearing gloves, and then went in for the stiff shake. He was known for his ridiculously over-strong handshake, and it was a running gag between them that he was always afraid to shake her hand.

Despite calling him Tex - like everyone did - that wasn't his name. It was far more boring - Ken. But he was, as could probably be assumed, from Texas. In every possible sense of the phrase.

"I'm not _stuck,_ " 'Egghead' interjected. Adam. He was sitting down on a stool that he brought with him so he could sit and work on his laptop, his long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. His glasses caught the light from the screen, glinting in the darkness cast by the battery-powered yet surprisingly bright portable LED work lights they used. "This isn't my area of expertise."

"Hm? Oh, you need me? Why, I do declare," she said with playful sarcasm and fanning her face, donning a southern belle accent for the opportunity. Tex snickered.

"We don't know any details about who's buried here. Just that they didn't want to be found. No name, no nothing. Just a door with some kind of… I don't even know what to make of this."

Isabel took a look at the door for the first time, and pulled the hoodie back from her face as she tilted her head up to look at it.

The door was…taller than it looked at first - easily eighteen feet tall. They had gone past the back of the mausoleum above, and were now well into the cliff. Someone had spent a _lot_ of time and a _lot_ of money digging this out. But that wasn't even the strangest part…

"Well I know _one_ thing-" Isabel said with an astonished half-laugh. "They're kind of a sicko."

The door was 'decorated' - if one could call it that - with an elaborate carving of… a torture scene. Monsters and creatures of every ilk, twisting and weaving around the forms of men, women and children of every type being torn to shreds. Stabbed, eaten, raped, placed upon massive sharpened stakes - it reminded her of the art of Hieronymus Bosch. It was too much detail to catch at first, all carved in relief on the massive metal structure. The door looked like steel, with the carved panels in bronze, bolted to the surface of the thick steel door.

In the center, was a series of metal concentric circles - each split into slices, and each slice with a symbol. A puzzle door. It was an impossible number of solutions to try if you didn't know the solution. Weird, yes. Totally unique? No. They had run into some fascinating traps and puzzles in their line of work.

"And they set traps. Be careful. Tex and I almost set some off coming down here - spikes in the wall. Who knows what other kind of bullshit they have set up."

Isabel sighed. "Great…"

"On your mark," Tex said from to her right. "This is far as we go withoutcha."

"Yeah, yeah… Just getting a lay of the land. Hold your horses." Isabel walked up to the door, and reaching out, placed her gloved hand along the bronze carving. She traced the detail of one demon who was tearing the throat out of a victim, and let her focus shift - let herself listen to the worlds - seen and unseen alike - around her.

"Can you sense anything yet?"

"No… It's quiet here. No ghosts wandering around," Isabel replied quietly, half-distracted. "There's a hum, but… everywhere like this has that." Pulling her hand back, she pulled the sheer glove off, and let her hand hover above the surface again. It radiated heat underneath her hand. It would be cold to the touch to anyone else - but not her.

"Here we go," she muttered half to herself as she let her palm land against the door, and pulled in a small gasp as the feeling of a hot wave rushed over her. She shut her eyes as her mind took her somewhere else. Opening her eyes, she saw - no not somewhere else. This was some _when_ else.

The vision in front of her was as real as the waking world. Two gentlemen stood before her. Both victorian - one young, one old. The younger man stood behind the elder, a lantern held aloft. The smell of the gas lamp stung her nose, and made her sniff and rub her nose reflexively. The men in front of her didn't react - didn't respond to her noise, or her presence. They never did.

This was a memory after all - a memory carried inside the iron of the door.

This was her 'gift' - her contribution to the team. This is why Eric labeled her 'the freak.' Isabel was an empath. Most empaths could only tap into the emotions of the people around them. But her? She could see the memories of whatever she touched - people, things, buildings - it didn't matter.

That's why she wore the gloves and the hoodie no matter how hot it was - she couldn't touch people. Or things. Not unless she was ready for it, and even still it could be disastrous. One accidental touch from a waiter in a restaurant and they would _both_ be in for a nasty surprise.

Now, with nothing between her hand and the door, the memories were laid bare before her. The older man reached forward to spin the disks in the door. It was clear, by their dire expressions, that they were locking the door and never to return.

Stepping forward, she reached out her other hand and 'freeze framed' the memory. It was like being stuck in a bad VHS video. She could fast forward, rewind, pause… mostly. Sometimes things got choppy.

She studied the men. The younger one was almost overwrought with guilt, fear, pain, anger, loss… it was so strong, even in the memory, that she felt it like the emotions were her own, and felt the knot in her throat begin to form. He had lost someone he loved - a fiance perhaps - and in the worst possible way. The older man carried himself better, but shared in the younger man's grief. Although he had lost not nearly as much, it seemed. He also seemed… resigned. Stalwart. This was all his idea.

She turned her attention to the job at hand - and at the symbols on the door. Isabel pulled herself half out of the memory to speak. "Adam?" She couldn't hear him - but she knew he could hear her. "Sun disk, ankh looking thing… R with a… with a squiggly tail. One that looks like two people back-to-back and the last one is… a Q with a teddy bear or a cat or a… Oh, screw it, I'll just show you."

She pulled her hand from the door and the memory dissolved, returning her to present day. Taking another breath as the residual emotions cleared from her, she put her glove back on and pointed to one of the symbols. "That thing."

Adam had moved since she had gone inside the memory, and laughed from next to her. "I'm glad you saved that one for last. I don't think I wouldn't understood what the hell you were talking about."

He spun the last disk into place, then brushed his dusty hands off on his vest. Adam always dressed the part of the British scholar - and it made sense. He was. "Then what?" he asked her.

Isabel looked back at the door and let out a breath. "I don't know. I saw them locking it, I didn't see them unlocking it. The two people I saw in the vision weren't… weren't okay emotionally. Something _horrible_ had happened. Like, 'I watched my loved one get eaten by a bear and I couldn't stop it,' kind of horrible."

"Huh," Adam said thoughtfully as he studied the door. He was the puzzle king of the bunch. He had seen every kind of puzzle and riddle at this point. It was impressive how similar these things were to historical research. 'Everything has its parts, and all parts fit together. You sometimes just have to see it differently,' he would coach her. He'd try and coach her often, trying to make her a 'better puzzle solver.' It never stuck. Especially when she could just cheat and touch it to get the answer.

He had only been half-listening to her, and she knew it. He was busy running his fingers along the center symbol, trying to discern where it moved or budged.

They had been through plenty of 'foreboding' tombs, temples or strange places. Everywhere they had been had donned some sort of fearsome mantle to keep looters at bay. They never listened.

"Ah-hah!" Adam exclaimed as he pushed forward on a part of the glyph in the center.

Some sort of counter-weight was released as the door rumbled and groaned, swinging open slowly in front of them. Tex, impatient and unimpressed with the dramatic reveal, stepped forward. "Come on, geeks," he said as he pushed the doors open the rest of the way.

He slung his pistol out of the holster, and walked in front of them, flashlight in one hand, the pistol in the other, carrying them in a military fashion. He was after all, an ex-military mercenary.

"Seriously Tex? Guns? In a crypt?" Isabel teased.

"Could be rats. Big rats. You never know."

Isabel leaned down to pick up the other LED lamp as Adam carried his laptop and his stool. More stairs leading even further down into the crypt. "Sheesh, they did _not_ want this guy found."

"What makes you say that?" Adam asked curiously.

"Well, this is really far into cliff to dig," she replied. "Obviously."

"No, you said 'they didn't want this guy found.'" Adam said as they made their way down. "That's a lot of assumptions, or…"

He was right. She never saw anything in the vision to think that it was a man buried here. Or a man buried at all - it could just be family wealth. Or that those two men in the vision were locking _someone_ away. Not just some _thing_. But the fear… the loathing - both self-loathing and deep hatred directed elsewhere. Then there was the door to consider. It just… _felt_ right, that those men were burying something in hopes it was never uncovered.

"No, it felt that way. That whatever is in here, they _hated._ And they were locking it away."

"It wasn't designed to keep people out, it was designed to keep _them in! Muahaha!_ " Tex said from the front, ending it with a bad Vincent-Price-Esque laugh.

"We've run into weirder things," Adam reminded the merc. "Much weirder things."

Isabel wasn't the only 'freak of nature' they had run into. One job they had was to find an enchanted pistol that shot silver bullets to down a _werewolf._ Tex still had a scar from that little adventure. But boy, the 'supernatural' jobs paid well.

They finally reached the bottom of the stairs. Tex let out a long whistle as the lights trained on to what sat in the center of the room.

A large, elaborate _obsidian_ coffin - it was almost more like a sarcophagus, it was so large - sat in front of them. Shaped like the classic 'toe pincher' with an angular lid, and decorated with a large, gothic-style cross on the lid. The black obsidian surface - or whatever strange stone it was - flashed in the light of the lantern. Elaborately detailed gold medallions ran along the edgework and the handles on the sides. Silver, long since tarnished, hung about it in thick chains… that held the lid shut.

"Oh, fuck me," Tex said with a sigh.

Adam plopped his stool down and sat on it, returning quickly to his laptop. He was searching through his databases, trying to find any of the symbolism on the coffin and finding a match for it. (Usually the computer wouldn't get signal this far down into the ground, but, Eric had come up with a solution for that with an explanation that was _far_ too long to remember, let alone pay attention to.)

Speaking of, Adam lifted a radio from his belt, and beeped the counterpart that was still topside. "Hey," he waited. A pause, and a beep in response.

"Yeah?" came Eric's voice.

"Call the client contact. We have a… coffin that's chained shut with silver chains down here."

"You _what?!_ " came the response. "That's some serious freaky Elvira shit. Seriously? Silver chains?"

"Just call them, please?" Adam said with a beleaguered sigh. "Tell them the price is going up. They never mentioned the possible _evil corpse_ buried with the jeweled sword they're after."

"Yeah yeah, I'll call them. Then I'm coming down there. I wanna see this shit."

"Glad I have the pistol now, wise-ass?" Tex smirked.

"Won't do any good if it _is_ a vampire or a demon or what-have-you in there," Adam responded matter-of-factly as he typed away.

"Oh. … Right." Tex said and seemed to be far less confident in his position. " Should I go back to the van then, and… get.. The blessed silver ammo?"

"Can't hurt," Adam responded, still not really paying attention as he typed. "There probably isn't anything in there. Probably just another superstitious scare-tactic. But I don't want to take chances."

"And if it gets more money out of the client, hey, who cares?" Tex said as he turned to walk back up the stairs to the van, leaving Adam and Isabel below.

Left in the silence, Isabel walked around the edges of the room with her LED lamp. The walls were sparse - hewn quickly out of the stone, and left without any of the finish that the upper chambers had. Clearly he - _this coffin,_ she corrected herself, as there was no proof the coffin contained anybody - was put down here in a rush.

Isabel turned back to the coffin in question and brushed a strand of wavy dark brown hair behind her ear with a gloved finger. He. She kept coming back to that. _He._ Not it, not 'her' not 'them.' He. The younger man in the vision had been mourning a woman - maybe he lost her to a monster…? Then it would make sense that she would be buried here. But no. This wasn't the tomb of a lost love. It felt…

Isabel walked towards the coffin, careful where she stepped. This section was carved out so quickly she doubt any traps had been set - not like the upper chamber which had been finished after. But it never hurt to be careful. Stepping up to the coffin, she looked at the intricate scrollwork that decorated it. _This is older than the rest of the tomb,_ she observed silently. _Older than the rest of the cemetery even._

As a 'treasure hunter' (and a deep fan of architecture and antiques,) she had a good eye for the dates and origins of things. This was old. _Very_ old. "Adam?" she asked, and got a 'hrn' in response. "15th century? European?"

"Eastern european," he half-murmured. "Cross-referencing the area for… anything…"

"Let's see what I can find," she said as she pulled off both her gloves.

"Be careful," Adam urged, looking up at her over the rim of his glasses. "I don't like the feel of this."

"Pssh," she playfully scolded. "Leave 'the feels' to me, bub." She grinned at him, and he half-smiled back. "And yes, I'll be careful."

She placed both hands down on the lid. The rush fell over here again.

This time, when she opened her eyes, she was standing against the wall. The same two men again, stood over the open coffin, peering down at it. The older man placed his hand on the arm of the young man. "I would damn you to hell," the younger man spat at whatever it was in the coffin. "If that were not whence you came."

"Be still, my friend.. We still have work to do. Come."

The two men turned to fetch the large, decorative lid from where it lay on the ground. It was clearly heavy, as they leaned down to lift it, they began a count of three to lift in unison.

"One… two…"

Isabel raised her hand and paused the memory. Swallowing back the dread she felt crawling through her from the sensations coursing through the two men, she walked forward - slowly - to peer inside the coffin.

A gas lamp was hung on a spike on the wall, casting stark shadows against the obsidian sides. She could see the inside was a deep red velvet - or velour. _Of course it is,_ she scolded herself. _Look at the outside, of course the inside is the same._ She groaned audibly as the thought dawned on her. _Black coffin. Red interior. Gold details. Silver chains. Cliche has to be based in fact somewhere. This IS a goddamn vampire isn't it?!_

She stepped forward again - scolding herself in her head again that it was only a memory. She was in control. But even still, she was terrified to see what lay within. Finally, she stepped up onto the lip of the pedestal on which the coffin lay. Leaning forward, she peered over the edge to catch sight of what dread creature the coffin contained.

A hand clamped around her wrist like a vice.

Isabel screamed.

The vision snapped and broke around her like so much glass - and she found herself sitting on the floor. Adam was standing over her, holding onto her upper arms, and was half-shaking her. "Izzy? Izzy?" she heard, vaguely, as she began to come to. She thrashed as she woke up like from a nightmare, and fought the urge to grab Adam. She wasn't wearing her gloves, after all.

"Yeah - yeah -" she stammered, and waved him off as she took in a wavering breath. "Shit," she pushed backwards, away from the coffin, and leaned her back against the stone wall of the crypt.

"What happened?" Adam asked eagerly, still crouching down by her, righting the lantern she had dropped as she had fallen backwards.

"I don't know. I was in the memory - I saw the coffin, lid off - Same two guys locking it up. I walked up to see what was in it, and something… grabbed me." She reached into the pockets of her coat to quickly replace her black sheer gloves.

" _Grabbed_ … you?" Adam asked, incredulously. "In a memory? How's that-"

"It's not! It's not possible!" Isabel was trembling, and she pulled the coat that she wore over her ever-present thin hoodie around her tighter, trying to stop her shaking. She tried to steady her breathing. "It's not possible."

"Are you sure?"

Isabel nodded. She wasn't sure what he was asking - whether she was sure that something had grabbed her wrist, or if what had happened was truly impossible. But she was sure of both - at least she was a second ago.

The sound of two pairs of footsteps coming down the stairs caught Adam's attention. Eric and Tex. Eric scanned the room quickly with his own lamp and saw them both close to the wall - Adam crouched, Isabel sitting with her back against the wall.

"Izzy, you okay?" Tex asked.

"Yeah, just… had an intense moment with the coffin. I'll be alright."

"That almost sounds dirty," Eric snickered.

"You wish," Isabel retorted, and shut her eyes, leaning her head against the wall. "You kids carry on. Give me a minute."

"You sure…?" Adam urged, and touched her arm again.

Opening her eyes, she met his - her amber to his green, and she smiled. She feigned that she was alright. She was good at hiding her emotions - even sometimes pushing them back on others as part of her 'gift.' "We've got a job," she reminded him.

Adam nodded, and stood up, turning back to the other two 'boys.'

They had a rule, in their little pack. Business first. Friendship a close second. But always business first. They had lost people before - their job was dangerous. Traps, pitfalls or even just loose flooring could take anyone out. Even worse, threats of the living variety in disputes of ownership. Worse than that, threats of the supernatural variety. You never knew when something was going to go wrong.

So business first.

"The client says… 1.5 mill if we bring them the whole coffin, as-is, and sealed. 2.5 if we do the dirty work of opening it, and just bring them the sword." Eric said the last bit in a long breath. "They said the corpse in there's been dead for 200 years and isn't a threat. That whatever it was is now well-and-truly-actually-dead."

"An extra mill to open a box? I'm game," Tex snorted.

She tuned out from their conversation as she looked down at her wrist. Whatever had grabbed her - if it had - felt _so real._ She pushed up the sleeve of her coat, and looked down at her thin hoodie as if she'd find a burn mark in it.

"Izzy?"

She snapped to attention and looked up, realizing all three were looking at her. "Huh?" she blinked. "Sorry. Lost in thought." It happened to her frequently.

"We're taking a vote. Open or not open. You're the only one left."

"Not open," she voted quickly and instinctively without a thought. "We're still getting a bonus, I don't need more for the risk. There's something screwy going on, and they didn't tell us the whole story."

All three men sighed at once. "A tie. Great," Eric grumbled. "Alright, we know how to settle this."

"Oh for fuck's sake-" Tex grumbled.

"Alright Adam," Eric stepped up. "We settle this like professionals. One representative from each side. Me on the 'open it' camp, you on the 'don't open it' camp."

Isabel groaned.

Eric did his best grin. " _Rock papers scissors!"_

* * *

Isabel hadn't moved from her spot on the floor as Tex dutifully snipped away at the silver chains. The bolt cutters were designed to go through steel, so they went through the tarnished soft metal like butter. Adam had brought down more work lights, and his 'rolling desk.' It was a ridiculous hospital cart the man insisted on bringing with him - but it made him happy, so everyone else put up with it. Teased him mercilessly, but put up with it.

"There," Tex said as he snipped the last one. It fell to the ground with a small _thunk_. He tossed the cutters aside with a bigger _thunk._

Isabel stood, and pulled her gun from the holster that sat against her hip. She rarely used it - rarely had to - but it was useful. She popped the clip and put it into her pocket as Tex tossed her one filled with blessed bullets, made partially from melted down communion silver (from eBay. But hey, it was still silver.)

None of them had ever seen a vampire - or demon, or whatever it was in the coffin - before, although they had no reason to doubt they existed from their experiences. They had met both creatures and people who could summon fire or control your mind - it would be stupid to think otherwise.

But she felt everyone's fear. Even Tex was nervous - although he handled it better than anyone else there.

She stepped forward as Adam and Eric took their positions holding the lid. Tex and her were on 'cover fire' if needed.

Reality echoed the memory as the two men counted down to lift the lid. "One… two…" this time they made it. " _Three!_ " Adam exclaimed and the two heaved.

The lid lifted - if reluctantly - and Eric groaned in dismay. "Hoooh _fuck_ -" he grumbled as they staggered to the side with the lid. "This is _fuckin' heavy!_ "

"Okay Princess, shut up and put it down-" Tex barked, all business now. He stepped forward, and peered down into the lid.

Isabel could count the atoms pass as time crawled. She waited for his response. Waited for anything.

Tex fired off three shots into the coffin, and the noise almost deafened her as she winced. Isabel stepped forward, ready to do the same and - he held up a hand to stop her. "No need. Just wanted to cap him a few times to make sure."

Looking down into the coffin, she saw a corpse, dressed in early victorian finery, holding a long broadsword… with three holes in its forehead.

"Jesus _Christ_ Tex," Adam exclaimed as he and Eric recovered from the weight of the lid and Tex's gunfire. "Do you know how loud that was?!"

"Nope," Tex answered, put the safety on his gun and put it back into the holster. "And I don't care. Coffin. Chained shut. Dude in coffin holding some _sick_ sword. Going to shoot him anyway. Don't care," he repeated and shrugged. "So let's take the sword and get the _fuck_ out of here."

Adam, Eric and Isabel approached the coffin - Isabel half a step after the others - fear still tight in her throat, in case something grabbed her again.

This time, she successfully looked down into the coffin and the body that lay there. It was dried - old - skin tight against the ligaments and bone like parchment paper. It looked like one touch would crumble it to nothing. Usually corpses are destroyed by insects, but this one looked untouched. The eyes were sunken - long since decayed away, although the closed lids held the shape of what was there before. Lips pulled away from the teeth, all of which remained. The canines were… pointed but… not fangs.

"Laaame," Eric threw his hands up and sighed. "No vampire. Just some fancy freak with a big ass sword."

"I'm happier that way," Adam said as he reached down into the coffin. The sword was - as Tex had described it - 'sick' and as Eric had implied, very large.

Isabel had never seen anything it. The corpse held the hilt in both decrepit hands, like so many images of knights in repose - holding the hilt as the blade extended down the length of his body. The hilt and pommel were sculpted into the shape of a dragon, the wings forming the cross-guard that curled around itself in a shape almost to resemble a flame. The center of the hilt where it met the cross-guard was embedded a large, deep crimson ruby. The blade itself was serrated near the hilt, and looked… vicious. This was a weapon of a man who used it - not just for decoration.

Isabel swallowed the knot in her throat again, her eyes moving between the blade and the corpse of the man who wielded it. She had long since pulled her gloves back on - but she felt the power radiating off of the blade even still. It had _many_ memories, and she wasn't looking forward to seeing any one of them.

Adam grasped the blade gently - having put on latex gloves to keep from tarnishing or touching the blade itself. Collectors were fussy about that kind of thing. He lifted, and pulled, and Isabel and Adam both cringed as one of the fingers snapped away as he did. But the blade was free.

"Sorry, friend," Adam muttered as he focused on the weight of the blade. Turning around, he placed it carefully into a crate against the wall.

"Alright - so - I suppose we re-seal the coffin, then?" Adam asked as he straightened up.

"Guys…?" Eric asked slowly, tentatively.

"Yeah?" Adam replied. Isabel had been watching Adam the entire time as he carefully moved the sword.

"Where's… where's the body…?" Eric pointed at the coffin, that Isabel was still standing next to.

She looked down, the deep desire to not know catching up with her too slowly - she had already moved.

The coffin was empty.

The body was gone.

Adam - who usually never swore, and was the 'refined' one of the bunch, saw fit to break his pattern for the occasion.

"Oh, _fuck._ "

Isabel staggered back from the empty coffin in shock.

" _Shit, shit!_ " Tex exclaimed. "Take the sword - fuck the crate - and get upstairs _now,_ " Tex snarled, holding his gun aloft.

"Calm down-" Adam insisted, holding out his hands as if that would help. "It might not be aggressive. It might be grateful we set it free-"

" _Fuck_ that," Tex barked at him, and reissued his command. "Upstairs. _Now!_ "

"You aren't the head of this team, _Kenneth-_ " Adam started.

"Hey um…" Isabel started. "I'd love to go upstairs, but…" Barely able to speak through the fear that was now roiling her stomach. But it wasn't the fear that kept her from moving. It was something else entirely. "I… can't."

"Why?" Tex wasn't even looking at Isabel, his eyes - and his gun - trained on the empty coffin.

Her breath was coming in short bursts, as she strained her head away from what was now so close to her cheek. "I found the corpse…"

Three guns, three lights, trained on her.

Isabel had her head tilted away from what was now so close to her own - although the corpse had once been a man of considerable height that now had to stoop to use her as the shield she suspected she now was.

It had moved silently - and even still, it made no noise. Not even a dry scrape of flesh on old clothing. It was somehow more terrifying that way.

One thin, barely-there arm was wrapped around her waist, pinning her left arm to her side. It felt like being pinned under steel rebar. The arm might be thin, but it was immovable. She had struggled once, but the thing had only squeezed her tighter, causing pain enough to make her vision white out before it relaxed its grip just barely. The message was clear. 'Stay still, or I crush your ribs.'

So she did as she was 'told.'

The thing had its other hand against her right shoulder, pulling her against him and off balance, arching her back. Its sharpened nails were digging into her skin, and she knew she would have marks, if not cuts, from them. If she lived that long.

The corpse had opened its eyes - although no eyes remained in its empty sockets. Flaking skin from a scalp that had shed most of its hair, although strings of jet black hair still dangled from the surface, grazing against her face.

It didn't move. It was a statue. A corpse like steel, keeping her pinned.

A red dot appeared on its forehead, just to the right of the hole left by three blessed bullets a moment before. "Izzy, do you trust me?" Tex asked her.

"Yeah I'm - I'm screwed either way-" she half-squeaked through the fear.

"Izzy you'll be fine. Just don't panic," Adam tried to calmly urged. "Let her go. Whatever you want, let her go."

"I got this," Tex angrily interjected. "Don't you fucking play diplomat right now!"

"You shot it already!" Adam snapped back. "Three times! It didn't do anything!"

"It wasn't moving then. Maybe it just needs _three more_."

The grip against her shoulder tightened and pulled her back further. She would have fallen if it hadn't pinned her against him. She was now twisted in its grip. "Guys? Please shut up," Isabel half-begged. "And figure something out… Or shoot me."

The corpse opened its jaw - the skin sliding away from the bone as it moved, as the two were no longer attached. Flakes of dead skin fell from its face and onto her. Isabel let out a terrified whimper as its canine teeth began to extend. It made no noise except the sound of bone-on-bone as they slid out.

"Oh god, don't… don't let it do this, please-" Isabel begged. "Just shoot me - please just shoot me Tex please-"

A gunshot rang out, and Isabel waited for the pain or hopefully the darkness. All she felt was the pain of stone hitting her head hard. She fell to the ground in a heap as the corpse holding her released her. She let out a groan from the floor.

She felt hands - living hands - on her arms as someone tried to help her up. Looking blearily up at Eric confused, she could only stammer uselessly.

"S'okay - it disappeared with Tex shot it-" Eric turned, and his face went nearly white.

It's amazing how quickly chaos happens.

You never see it coming. You can never predict exactly how, or why chaos hits. But when you do - you can only ever piece it together after the fact. Only after the fact can you parse it out and figure out exactly what happened when and in what order and try to lay out a timeline to better understand it.

First, the corpse disappeared.

Adam and Tex argued about what to do - Adam wanted to play nice, Tex wanted to shoot.

The corpse tried to bite her. She remembered the teeth - white against the parchment skin of the dried flesh.

A gunshot rang out - then she fell and smacked her head on the stone. Eric grabbed her by the arms and started to pick her up front the ground. He looked up and, then - the next step in the timeline.

Isabel looked up, turned - and saw Tex. He still had the flashlight in one hand, the gun in the other. But now, instead of trained forward in military fashion, they were limp at his sides. The gun and the flashlight clattered to the ground, forgotten and useless to their previous owner.

That wasn't the only thing that fell to the ground, forgotten and useless to its previous owner.

Tex's head followed shortly after. It thumped as it hit the ground at his feet, and rolled away. It was almost cartoonish, the way it happened - almost like it was from a bad movie. Eric sprung to his feet, knocking Isabel back to the ground in the process. She hit the ground again and lost track of precious moments. She might have blacked out, it was impossible to know.

Screaming. Yelling. More gunshots. Silence.

Isabel pushed up from the ground, and struggled up to standing. She had hit her head hard against the ground when she fell, and as she pressed her hand against the stone to right herself, the ground threatened to follow her.

Silence except for the ringing in her head as she used the wall for balance. Silence except for… what was that noise? It sounded like… Her mind struggled to find something to compare it to. Like a dog eating dinner.

Blearily, confused, her head still reeling, she turned to try and find the source of the noise.

Blood had begun to pool on the ground around the body of her former friend. Tex. Oh god, Tex… At first it looked like the body was… twitching. But it wasn't. Not really. Another form was perched next to the body of her friend, her co worker, her drinking buddy. It was the corpse. It had dragged Tex half into its lap, the bony pointed nails of its hand digging into the softer flesh of Tex's torso. It was… eating… the body. Slurping and lapping at the blood that poured from the torn and ravaged stump that was Tex's neck.

It was like a video of a hyena tearing apart a corpse. A starving, desperate hyena.

Isabel felt her stomach flip and threaten to empty its contents on the floor. The daze from what she was sure was a concussion kept the world in a fuzzy, dreamlike state. That was all that saved her from losing it.

The corpse - corpses, rather - were blocking her path to the stairs up to safety. She would have to cross _over_ them to get there. The gun - right - she had a gun. It fell when the thing grabbed her. Looking down at it on the floor near her foot, it felt like a million miles away.

She crouched down, one hand still pressed against the wall for balance, and grasped the gun. The world threatened to tip out from under her again - but slowly, she managed to stand back up.

Pointing the gun at the monster still hungrily slurping away on the body of her friend, she swallowed down the bile in her throat. She could see now, in her slowly clearing vision, the white stump of a spine in the wound that looked like it had been torn open. It wasn't a clean cut - and the monster was now making it worse, peeling away the flesh from Tex's chest to dig deeper, in an attempt to get more of the blood from the body.

Step by agonizing step, she made her way closer to the stairs. One foot after the other. The gun still pointed, if unsteadily, at the creature. Finally, after what seemed like forever, she was close enough to them that she had to step around the puddle of blood.

Having given up on ravaging the body, the monster was now crouched over the pool of crimson and was lapping at it like an animal.

The creature's tongue was half missing - only a stump, now covered in bright red blood. It was then that she heard it - the creature was almost… _purring._ There was a low, contented… growl coming from the monster as it slathered over the granite floor before the pool of blood was too far gone to drink.

That was almost too much. Letting out a half-choked sob, Isabel forced herself to focus. Forced herself to try and deal with this later. She stepped one foot over Tex's legs - and grabbed onto the jamb of the stairway. Finally she managed to step over it, and she felt the first twinge of hope as she now had an open path to outside.

Her hope didn't last long.

As she turned to face back to the creature, intending to go up the stairs backwards with the gun trained on the beast. She never got the chance. She fell backwards - barely catching herself on the stairs before her head smashed into the stone again.

The creature had knocked her backwards onto the stairs, and she was now half-laying on them, one arm bent and pressed against the stone. It was looming over her, one clawed hand near her head, and supporting its weight as it leaned down over her. Empty eye sockets still felt like they were staring into her soul as the corpse slowly lowered itself closer to her.

It was covered in blood from its mouth down its chest, the aged victorian clothing now stained dark red. Isabel groaned low in dread as she watched the blood… seep into its skin. Like the skin itself were dying of thirst. As she watched, the monster's body began to… heal. Slowly, tendons seemed to start to grow and reattach itself to the bone. She was watching it begin to regenerate itself before her eyes.

Somewhere in her, Isabel felt the strength to lift the gun and press the muzzle against the neck of the monster. "Let me go," she muttered to it - hoping she sounded more convincing than she felt.

It hissed in breath, rasping through dead and frozen lungs. She hadn't seen it breathe before - but now it filled shattered lungs and let it out in a dry and nearly silent… laugh. Its free hand closed around the barrel of the gun, and Isabel almost sobbed when it lowered the point of the muzzle from its throat until it was pressed against its chest, over where its heart would be.

Daring her.

It was _daring_ her to shoot it. 'See what good it did? See where it got your friend?' was the clear message.

"I'm not just going to… to _let_ you…" she stammered. Its hand moved from the gun to move towards her face. "No!" she cried, and it hesitated. "Don't," she begged. "It won't go well for either of us, please…"

She wasn't convincing enough, it seemed. It reached out to wrap one hand around behind her head - no doubt to wrench her head to the side and tear open her throat.

Its dead, flaking skin touched hers.

Her world went dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks everyone for all the follows and the review. :) Here's chapter two - hope you enjoy!**

* * *

It took her a long moment to figure out what was happening. It was like waking up from some kind of day-dream. Except this was fading _into_ the daydream. Isabel slowly became aware of herself and into this new reality.

She was sitting in the drawing room of some mansion. Victorian again, it seemed. The delicately carved furniture was unmistakable and the elaborate painted wallpaper was another dead giveaway. Golden details of arches and gazebos, flora and fauna alike contrasted the purples, blues and reds of the skyline.

Isabel ran her hand along the patterned blue and yellow fabric of the settee. She smirked - flashes of some debaucherous evening ran through her mind. This glorified loveseat had seen far more than just socialite banter.

Gas lamps burned on the walls, and the sun was low against the horizon. It was past sunset, and the amber of the sky was fading from its ruddy tone and shifting to pale blues and purples as if mirroring the painted scene upon the walls. The high ceiling was decorated by a large brass chandelier with candles that remained unlit.

The room was divided by a sliding partition, painted with an elaborate scene of a garden to match the wallpaper. It was designed to split the men away from the women in an evening's affair. Now it was half-closed, only serving to break up the view of the room from where she sat.

Where was she? A memory, clearly - but where? When? Nothing of hers… It took her a second to remember. Tex. The corpse. Oh. Right. The corpse had touched her. She was _inside_ that thing's head. So he was some… victorian demon, or vampire, or who knows what. More than one type of monster fed on blood, from all over the world's history, depending on what lore you were reading.

Music was playing quietly from the other half of the room. A piano.

Unable to resist her curiosity, Isabel stood up, and crossed the thick carpet into the other half of the space. There sat a baby grand piano, its lid lifted and held open with a gold painted wooden post. A man sat at the keys, his fingers moving delicately across the ivory as he played some slow and lazy piece. His nails were pointed and sharp, and yet didn't click against the surface as he played. It sounded like a Beethoven, but she wasn't sure.

The man was pale - but not lifeless. His features were hard and powerful, as though they were carved out of marble. A well-groomed goatee surrounded lips that looked as though they found themselves in a constant frown. Like there was always a weight pressing on him. Long black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, neatly tied at the back of his neck. He was handsome, she had to admit to herself. Beautiful - but morose.

She walked closer to him as he played, unafraid. She was in a memory, after all. Was this him? Was this the corpse in the coffin that had laid waste to her close friend? Isabel tried to read his emotions, but they weren't strong enough to come through in the memory. Nothing rose to the surface for thoughts or feelings. Just… a cloud. He seemed almost content in this moment. Perhaps he wasn't accustomed to being content.

Odd. Memories usually were impactful moments. Things that left some scar or turn of events in a person's life. Not just… sitting and playing piano. What had made this moment so important for him? Isabel reached out without realizing it - reaching her hand out to touch him on the shoulder. Maybe it would give her a stronger read on him.

"Who are you…?" she quietly asked, speaking aloud to herself. This was only a fragment of time, after all. It's not like he could answer her.

A hand snapped around her wrist in a moment faster than she could see - clamping down around her like a vice. Red eyes bored into her amber ones with a fierceness that made them look as though they were aflame.

"I could ask you the very same, _my_ _dear_."

Isabel let out a startled cry as he suddenly moved - too quickly for her to register was happening. In one motion, he stood, pushing the piano bench away so quickly it almost toppled over, and moved to pin her with her back against the side of the piano. He gripped the lip of the piano's wooden frame with one hand - and that was his mistake.

Acting instinctually - and not unaccustomed to a fight - she smacked the wood post that held up the lid of the piano with her elbow, causing the heavy wood to come crashing down on the creature's hand with a loud _wham_. It would have broken a normal man's fingers, and was enough to make him snarl in pain and release his grip on her. That gave Isabel a chance to duck away from him.

She tried to break the memory - tried to snap out of it - but… nothing happened. Terror gripped her. She was trapped… somewhere… in a memory that she couldn't control… with a _thing_ that could somehow move and respond to her. Maybe she was dead - or hallucinating.

"Clever," he growled as he turned around to face her. "It has been some time since my prey _fought back._ " He took a step towards her.

"Stay the _fuck_ away from me," she took another step back.

"Hmn," he half-laughed. "Such vitriol. Much time has passed since I last awoke, it seems. Your garb and your language would be quite scandalous otherwise." He took another step forward.

She responded with another step back. She was running out of space to move - he was skillfully backing her into a corner. Literally and figuratively.

"How are you doing this…?" she shook her head. "This _shouldn't_ be possible. Stop whatever you're doing."

"You invade _my_ mind, and you accuse _me?_ " he laughed again. "An era of audacity, truly. Although I will not complain for the cut of your clothes… They are quite… temptingly tailored, if perhaps a bit masculine." His red eyes flicked over her form, and she felt suddenly very self-conscious about her tank top with the hoodie half-unzipped over it. "I always enjoyed practical women."

He took another step towards her. She mirrored it with a step back, and bumped into a large end-table, tucked into the corner of the room. " _Shit._ " she swore as the impact startled her - the bemused smile on the vampire's face not helping her nerves.

"Stay away from me," she said, hating the sound of fear in her voice. He ignored her, and took another step forward. "Stop," she half-pled, but to no avail.

"To your credit, you _did_ warn me before, and I did not listen." He closed the distance between them, and reached out towards her. "But here, in my mind, you somehow believe you are without power."

Isabel grabbed a small brass and marble statue that sat on the end table, and swung it for his head. He was not expecting the outburst, and she clocked him across the face with it. He snarled again, and turned with the force of the blow. She was certain it was from shock, not real damage. But she wouldn't argue.

Taking her opportunity, and using the end table for leverage, Isabel stuck the flat of her boot into the middle of his stomach and _shoved_ as hard as she could. The creature, still caught off-guard, staggered backwards away from her as she pushed him off balance.

That gave her the space she needed to _run._ Maybe if she put distance between them, she could break out of the memory. Dropping the statue, she bolted - ducking around him and out of the door of the drawing room. Knowing that running and distance was more important than what direction she picked, she ran wildly without care for her surroundings. Left, right, another right, and clamoring down a flight of stairs, missing the bottom two steps entirely with her speed.

Bursting out of a door into a back courtyard - or whatever, she didn't have time to thinking about it - she looked around at the darkening landscape. Marble benches, a railing - and a long pathway down through what looked like a winding, carefully landscaped garden. She tried to break the memory… but still, nothing happened.

The sound of shattering glass made her reflexively duck, and whirl to look back at the mansion.

Looking up towards the source of the noise - something had burst through both windows of the drawing room on the second floor. Glass rained down, tinkling and smashing against the marble courtyard. A lump caught in her throat as she saw the source of the impact.

 _Bats._

Fucking _bats._

A swarm of the black, giant rodents cascaded through the shattered panes, swirling over her. She didn't need to ask what had happened, or what they intended. Isabel turned and bolted as fast as she could towards the garden. She used a hand to vault over the marble railing, and took the drop from the courtyard with a half-stagger. Isabel ran as fast as she could towards the cover.

She knew it wouldn't do any good.

But she had to _try._

Something smashed into her, hard enough to knock the wind out of her. Already hard for breath, it left her on the ground with a silent desperate gasp, feeling the burning in her lungs as they refused to fill. A hand grabbed her by the back of the hoodie and hefted her up, and half threw her forwards. Isabel struggled to get her feet under her, as she staggered with the momentum.

Dazed, still burning for air, her hands met a hard surface at almost waist height, and she gripped it hard for balance.

The force that had impacted her returned. Something grabbed her with both hands, whirled her around face-up, and she found herself suddenly pinned to that hard surface.

Red eyes in the darkness glared down at her, flickering despite there being little for them to reflect in the fading daylight. The monster had her pinned on her back on a marble bench in the garden, and was now over her, one knee pressed in between her legs. She felt its hand against her throat. Pressing - but not squeezing. Keeping her still.

Isabel gasped for air - her vision swimming. It waited patiently, simply watching her, as she finally managed to fill her lungs as she recovered from its first impact. She let out a low groan as the relief of fresh oxygen filled her.

"Fragile creature…" it seemed to complain down at her. "So much like a candle, you are. Eager to burn, yet easy to snuff out. I wonder if you will prove to be as useful as a flame in the darkness... " It tilted its head to the side slightly as it watched her. His hair had fallen loose from the tie, and now hung around his face as he kept her pinned. "What a wonderful game you have played out for me, here in this visualized battle of the minds…" he pondered aloud, watching her with its red eyes, as her breathing slowly became less desperate.

Isabel struggled, thrashed up against him, trying to punch him or push him off of her. He only laughed in response, and she found her wrists quickly trapped in his hands. He thrust her wrists up over her head and pinned them there, one large hand easily keeping both of hers pressed against the marble over her. Isabel growled in frustration, and that made him smile.

"Now now, no more of that," he scolded. "While your little flight was… _immensely entertaining…_ and I hope to repeat our little game, we may be pressed for time."

He reached his other hand toward her face, and placed it along the edge of her chin, pressing a thumb on the space just below her lower lip. His red eyes narrowed just slightly, observing her.

Isabel pulled in a gasp through parted lips as she tried to pull away from him. His grasp on her wrists only tightened. She was well and truly trapped. He ran the edge of his pointed thumbnail slowly along the line of her lower lip.

Isabel wasn't used to being touched. Nobody ever offered, after learning what would happen if they did. It took several 'episodes' with the same person before she could finally control the memories - before she could finally keep her power from shutting down either, or both of them like this.

"Curiouser and curiouser," he said to her quietly. "An empath, of course. But I see now… your gift is contained largely in your touch. I feel you reaching out, even still. Even here inside my mind, I can feel your soul burning at the surface. Pushing against me, vying for control." He leaned his head down towards her. "How wonderful."

"I didn't - it's never-" she stammered, uselessly.

"My coffin is not strong enough to withstand your invasion," he smirked at her, lips curling into a well-used cynical expression. "As I am sure all other souls fall before your gift. I am not so easily _pried apart_."

"I'm sorry, I wasn't… I wasn't trying to-" she turned her head away from him as he lowered his further still. She could feel his hair touching her cheek, her neck.

"Ssh," he said quietly as ran his fingers along her jaw, using his hand to tilt her head back towards him. "I know." He leaned in further, and she felt his cold breath against her cheek. She shut her eyes tight - afraid of what he intended. "I think I shall let you go. I think I would like to kill you _slowly_. Go, my little dove." She felt his lips curl into a smile against her face as he leaned in closer to her ear. " _Run,_ and let me chase you..."

Isabel awoke with a start, laying back against the stairs, the memory - or dream, whatever it was - shattering around her. The creature was still hovering over her. It pulled back, its skeletal frame shrinking back away from her like an animal. It turned, and crouched back down over the pool of blood, and resumed lapping it up from the floor.

Isabel took her opportunity and scrambled up the stairs, running as best she could with her head still swimming.

His words echoed in her mind. _Run - and let me chase you._

As she half-staggered out of the door of the crypt, she winced as she was met with a bright light. It wasn't the sun - more like a floodlamp. It brought her to a full stop, as she raised a hand to shield her eyes.

"Drop the weapon," she heard someone bark at her. She didn't recognize the voice. Weapon? Oh, right, the gun she was holding. Whatever - a fat lot of good it did her. She dropped it as commanded, and lifted her hands. She sighed. This wasn't the first time this had happened to her.

"Get her out of the way."

Shadows approached, black inkblots against the bright light. Hands grabbed her, yanked her forward, and shoved her arms behind her back. She felt something around her wrists, and she heard the sound of a ziptie as it cinched around her. Great.

"You want to worry about the thing that's down there-" she snapped at the voice she couldn't see. Her eyes were still adjusting to the floodlight.

"We know all about him."

"Then why the _hell_ are you bothering with me?!" A shove on her back and she staggered forward, and out of the light. Looking around - it looked like some paramilitary group had shown up. She had seen outfits like these before. Rich people employing their own private army. When people get to a certain point of untouchable cash, they begin to behave like a country unto themselves. And every country needs a military.

Easily ten men, maybe more - stood in black tak jackets and full gear with guns at the ready. Another shove, and he was pushed past the line of men with guns. Another shove. "I get it, I get it," she snapped at the goon pushing her. She walked in the direction that the goon had pushed. A small group of more civilian looking people were standing by a large black humvee, the back doors open. Another humvee nearby looked like it was filled with machinery of some kind - medical, maybe?

A man in a suit walked up to her, shoving a smartphone into his suit pocket. He looked at her, and clearly was annoyed by her presence. She was a waste of his time - but he likely assumed everything was a waste of his very precious time. "Did he bite you?"

"What?"

"Easy question. Did. He. Bite. You?"

The man sighed. Hated his time being wasted. He was an easy read. He didn't _think_ so, mind you - his polished, posh exterior was designed to be as flat as glass. As unflinching as a mirror across the board room table. But to her, he was an open book. Annoyed on the surface - _terrified_ underneath. Isabel shook her head, and finally answered his question. "No. He didn't."

"How did you get away without him attacking you?"

"He was busy _eating my friend,_ " she snapped angrily. "He was distracted."

The businessman stood up slightly, and pulled on the bottom of his coat to straighten it. He knew something he wasn't telling her, and he was debating playing his hand now or later. Isabel watched him curiously, wondering what it was. "Put her in the back with the others."

The goon grabbed her shoulder and pulled her away from the businessman, dragging her towards another humvee. The back was open, and the overhead light was on. As the goon rounded the corner and pushed her with it, she saw two figures sitting there on benches. Their hands were similarly ziptied. She let out a breath she had been holding. Adam and Eric.

"Izzy!" Eric exclaimed, beaming.

"Oh thank God you're okay," Adam said, letting out a breath. "We were sure you..." he trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence. But the implication was clear. _Died like Tex._

The goon forced her up into the back of the humvee, sat her down on a bench across from them, and harnessed her in. A glorified seatbelt - but useful for keeping her stuck. Izzy sighed. "Yeah, I was sure too."

"Sorry for," Eric started, then paused for a while. "Y'know… leaving… you… behind… and all."

Regret and sadness radiated from him, and Isabel smiled over at her friend. "It's fine - I was as good as dead." Isabel let out breath. "Tex."

"Yeah," Eric agreed, and the three sat in silence for a moment, mourning their friend.

The goon was now standing guard at the entrance to the humvee. Protecting them? Keeping them from running? Probably both.

Gunshots rang out from outside the vehicle, and all three of them twisted to try and see out the tinted windows. They could just barely twist enough to see the entrance to the crypt. A skeletal figure had stepped from the darkness into the floodlight. Its arms were thrown up in front of its face, and now it let out aloud, hideous shriek as the armed men opened fire.

The sound of the howling made Isabel recoil - it sounded like nails on a chalkboard. The men with guns moved forward with… rods with metal loops at the end, kind of like what wild animal wranglers would use - it was hard to tell for certain. But the corpse collapsed to the ground.

"Alright, kiddos," the goon guarding the humvee said. "Time to go." He hopped up into the back of the vehicle, and took out three black bags from a box.

"Seriously?" Eric grumbled as the goon slung the bag of his head. "At least this one doesn't smell musty. The last one smelled awful." Adam was next, then her.

"Is he always this chatty?" the goon asked.

"Yes," Adam and Isabel responded in unison.

Isabel didn't fight, and just leaned back against her arms as much as she could. She heard people sitting down around her, heard the back of the humvee close - and heard the engine start up. If they wanted them dead, they would have shot them already. Isabel hazarded a guess that this was the client's personal army. It wouldn't be the first time they sent 'assurances.'

They rode in silence for a long time. Finally, a goon next to her spoke up. "Hey uh… Miss?"

"I assume you mean me?" Isabel asked, smiling under the hood. "I can't see, so, y'know."

The voice laughed nervously. "Yeah. So uh. We got told not to touch you. Like, not like - 'don't punch you' kind of 'don't touch you,' but - like - literally don't touch you. Like. Your skin. Gloves only. Cuz you're some kind of mind reader. Is that true?"

Isabel tried not to sigh. "I can't tell what you're thinking, so don't worry about picturing my friend naked, if that's what you're worried about."

She heard the other people in the van laugh. "No!" the original voice exclaimed. "That's not what I meant!"

"Please don't fraternize with the prisoners," a voice from up front said - older in tone.

"Sorry," the first voice sighed. She felt him shift uncomfortably in his seat. "This is just my first job dealing with... things like you."

"Gee, thanks. I'm a 'thing' now? What an upgrade," Isabel grumbled sarcastically.

"That's not what I meant-" the guy replied.

"Will you stop talking already before you put your foot any further down your throat?" the Older Goon from the front seat snapped. After a pause, he spoke up again. "I apologize for my associate. He's new."

"It's alright," Isabel responded. "I've been called much worse."

The rest of the ride went largely in silence. There was a radio in the front that would occasionally beep, and voices over it would yammer back and forth at each other, mostly in code. Their humvee driver - the Older Goon from before - would now and then chime in with his own coded response.

Finally, they seemed to get to their destination. It sounded like they had pulled into a building, judging by the sound of the roll gate, and the now much-more-echoey sounds of the humvee. The vehicle stopped, and switched off. Isabel listened - picking up on flashes of emotions from the people around her. They were all nervous, to some degree or another. Especially the younger 'newbie' that had spoken to her earlier. He was borderline ready to bolt.

Doors opened, people clamored out of the van, and then it was their turn. She heard Eric and Adam get unhooked from the harnesses that kept them strapped in. Then it was her turn, and a hand on her arm lead her out of the van. Even still, she almost fell over as she took the bigger step down to a concrete floor.

The bag was pulled from her head, and she was relieved to catch some air. Adam and Eric were next to her. "Where are we?" she asked the former.

"South Boston. Somewhere between Old Colony Avenue and Dorchester Avenue," Adam responded matter-of-factly.

"What, do you have superpowers too?" the goon next to him snapped.

"No," Adam responded, as matter-of-factly as before. "I simply used the average RPM of the humvee and time to judge estimated distance, and I counted turns. … And I have a photographic memory."

"And he studies google maps," Eric chimed in.

"Fucking freaks," another goon grumbled half under his breath.

"You really must work on teaching your people _manners,_ Vanderbilt," said a voice from behind them.

Turning, she watched as two men approached. A shorter, stockier middle-aged man in a lab coat, and a tall, lanky, bald older man in his sixties. His face was kind, as were his eyes, but there was something about him that made Isabel instantly on guard.

"Sorry, boss," the older goon - Vanderbilt - replied. "It's hard to get a mercenary army with tact," he finished. Ah. The head of the private army.

"It is a pleasure to meet you three. I'm very sorry about your compatriot…" the tall, older man said with a sigh. He looked like he could play a priest in a community theatre play - he had that kind of vibe about him. Nice. But fake. "And I'm sorry for the protocol bringing you here."

"It's fine," Adam responded. "You're the client, I assume?"

"Indeed I am. And a phenomenal job you did in locating and retrieving the sword. I apologize again if my employees were not forthcoming with all the information," he said with a sigh. "Vanderbilt, please untie them."

"Yes boss," Vanderbilt responded as he walked around behind the three of them, cutting the zip ties that held their hands together behind their backs.

Isabel rubbed her wrists and then her shoulder. This guy - the client - made her skin crawl. He wasn't to be trusted. Isabel rubbed the back of her neck - a sign to Adam and Eric that the 'client' was full of it.

"Occupational hazard," Adam replied. "Regrettable but understandable. I'm sure you weren't positive you could trust us with that information." Always the diplomat. And he was good at it.

The client smiled warmly at him. "Indeed. A lot of less… genuine people would have sold the sword to another buyer if they had learned exactly who it belonged to. But!" he exclaimed, changing the subject. "Why don't we sit and talk over coffee? I have another business proposition to the three of you that I would like to discuss."

"A name first, might be nice. Since you know everything about us, it seems," Adam responded.

"Ah yes, right. Pardon my rudeness. I'm Doctor Harold Brass. Do call me Harold, though. Come."

Finally turning from the humvee, Isabel was able to get a look at where they were. A warehouse, as Adam had pointed out. It was large, and the lights were off - instead all light came from work lights on posts or otherwise, strewn around. Heavy cables ran criss-crossing around the concrete space. The space had clearly been abandoned up until now. Puddles of water and graffiti dotted the space. It had been some machining warehouse before the industry went elsewhere. Several of the windows, high above ground level, were shattered and knocked out.

The first thing that struck her as interesting was the machinery that the client and his people had brought in. There was a _lot_ of it. A generator buzzed somewhere from the darkness, feeding the whole operation. To remain off the grid, she presumed. The machinery looked medical, scientific, or both. There were a few partitions set up - pop-up plastic spaces that looked like they were designed to quarantine specimens or keep areas sterile.

 _What the hell have we gotten ourselves into?_ she wondered. Isabel looked around at the dozen or so people she could see moving from one station to another. Most of them wearing scrubs or something similar. Well, this was the dozen or so people _besides_ the armed guards now stationed around.

Most of the lights - indeed most of the guards seemed focused on one point. In the center of the warehouse was a structure. It was square, with a thick metal frame. Glass spanned all four walls. A figure hung from the center of the room on a chain - from its neck.

Her walking hitched as she saw what it was. The corpse - the vampire. It was seemingly unconscious - looking every bit the ounce of a strung up dead body. With all its weight on its neck, the metal of the collar placed there had dug into its flesh, and deep crimson blood oozed from it. The blood looked… old. Used. _Tex's blood_ she reminded herself with a cringe.

"Everything alright, Miss?" Vanderbilt asked her. "See something upsetting?" His tone was sarcastic - as if he was accusing her of sympathizing with the corpse.

"Yeah. Everything's 'fine.' That's only my friend's blood I'm seeing," she snapped back bitterly, glaring at him.

That made the older soldier flinch - and he stammered an apology.

"Soldiers," Dr. Harold Brass sighed. "There's no teaching them manners sometimes. Come now."

She forced herself to continue walking, and after another twenty or so feet, they approached another 'quarantine' room. This time with a table in the center of it. A goon in black opened the door for them, and the three of them followed 'Harold' inside. The short man in the lab coat followed after them, but Vanderbilt chose to stand outside.

"This is Dr. O'Hare. A proper doctor - my doctorate is in history, after all. He's here to see to our uh… friend… in the cell." Harold walked up to a coffee machine on a table by one of the plastic walls, and poured himself a cup. He gestured to it, welcoming the others to follow suit, but nobody did. Everyone also clearly preferred to remain standing.

"What are you doing with him?" Adam asked. "Clearly you understand how dangerous he is."

"That room has been designed by Dr. O'Hare to withstand his type. Especially in his weakened state, he's no threat to us." Harold smiled broadly, clearly proud of himself and his team.

"Mmhm," Eric said with a half-snort. "Sure."

"Your incredulous response is warranted," Dr. O'Hare began, pushing his glasses up his nose. The little doctor was… irritating. And Harold thought so as well, she could tell. "But I assure you-"

"How about you get to the point?" Isabel interjected. "I'm sorry to be so blunt but… it's been a shitty evening and I'm sick of people dancing around their intent." She couldn't help but look back at the vampire in the cell, dangling from the chain around its neck, lifeless.

"Respectable, especially after what you've been through tonight," Harold smiled. "And since you're the only other one in the room who knows _who_ that thing actually is."

Isabel looked over at him and raised her eyebrow. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

"You didn't get out of that crypt because it was busy 'eating your friend,'" Harold mirrored her words from earlier - clearly having been relayed the conversation. "It touched you, didn't it?" Harold was again, very pleased with himself.

Isabel looked back over to the dangling corpse. "You said you had a business proposition. How about you get to it?"

"He _did,_ didn't he…" Harold said, almost beaming. "Well! That brings us nicely to the proposition. You three will be paid every penny of the 2.5 million dollars we offered you. I am a man of my word. I would like to double that fee for your continued services."

"What kind of 'continued services?'" Adam asked, his dry British accent not giving anything away.

"The sword that was in its possession has been said to contain _great_ power. To be blunt, I seek to unlock it," Harold started. He wasn't telling the whole story, and Isabel rubbed the back of her neck - signaling the other two.

She looked back to them, and watched Adam put his hands in his pockets. It was his return symbol for 'acknowledged, but don't play your hand.' Isabel looked back to the corpse on a chain, about twenty feet away.

Harold continued. "You three would be valuable additions to my team to uncover the truth about the weapon. Especially since one of you already has… _insider knowledge."_

Isabel looked back to him, disgruntled at the insinuations. "Alright. Clearly you did your research before hiring us, and you know what I can do. Rare, but if you can sling five million at four-" she caught herself in her mistake. "Three - losers like us, it's not surprising you have contacts. So fine. Yes, he touched me. Yes, I got into his head. And I dropped him like a fucking brick. Like any idiot who touches me. Whatever I saw, it wasn't useful to you."

"What did you see?" Harold asked intensely, walking around the table towards her. If he could have stared the truth out of her, he would - that was how intensely he wanted to know the details. This man lived and breathed to learn secrets about the corpse in the glass box.

Isabel would have withdrawn if she could - she didn't like people walking up to her like that. God knows she had enough of it for today. "He was playing piano. We didn't speak. Memories don't work like that."

One good thing about her gift, is it made her one _hell_ of a good liar. She could project a feeling of truthfulness onto anyone. There was that one botched job where she had to get them out of an FBI holding cell - and if it worked on those interrogators, it'd work on anyone.

Harold sighed, believing her, but disappointed. "Perhaps you'll get another chance to dig deeper," he smiled. "If you take me up on my offer."

"And if we don't?" Adam asked.

Harold turned back to him. "We brought your van here with us, in case you needed any of your belongings. If you decline, some of our men will drive you and your van off site, and you're free to go."

Adam didn't bother pointing out that he already knew where they were, and instead looked over at the corpse on the chain. "Why keep that thing, if you know it's dangerous, and you're only after the sword?"

"Having him here might help us unlock the sword," Harold replied. "And if we didn't bring him here, he'd only find us anyway."

"You keep referencing 'who he is," Isabel interjected, folding her arms in front of her. "Why is that so important?"

"My inclination is to not tell you," Harold said after a pause. "Because it'll probably make you all refuse to take the job. But, by not telling you, you're likely to do the same." He sighed. "Fine. I'll tell you."

Eric groaned. "C'mon man, just spit it out."

"That… is Dracula."


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you everyone for the reviews! This one has a little bit of a slow build to establish the character - she'll get to the Castle and meet Alucard eventually, I promise. :) And to answer a question, Alucard is Dracula's son in this story. I'm going with a combination of lore from the original Bram Stoker novel to the games themselves.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Isabel wasn't a great artist by any means. Well, she didn't think so anyway. Years of sketching, doodling, and erasing pencil lines had made her 'pretty good' by most people's standards. Isabel had remarked once to Tex that in her opinion, the measure of an artist could be found 'in the distance between what they see in their heads and what they can put down into reality.' And if that were the case, she was a horrible artist.

Tex's response had been: 'Well I only see naked ladies in my head, and porn already exists. So my niche as an artist's already been filled.'

Isabel smiled as her pencil worked over the paper, remembering her friend. Her memory turned bitter sweet as the fresh pang of loss hit her. She would get over it, in time - they all would. He would always be a friend who was lost, but he wasn't the first. And he probably wouldn't be the last.

Isabel wasn't even entirely sure what she was drawing - just something that she could see in her mind's eye, for now. It would make itself clear eventually. It looked like a sword? Held by someone - but not the sword that they had recovered, and not the thing she saw in her dream. This felt different. Younger. But it wasn't clear.

Flipping the page, she decided to try something else.

She was sitting on the floor of the warehouse, her back up against a giant steel i-beam that ran up into the darkness of the warehouse. She had taken off her long coat, and folded it up underneath her to sit on. The goons and several scientists had offered to bring her a chair - but she declined, actually preferring to sit on the floor.

She had pulled her hoodie up over her head again, wanting to hide her face as best she could. Sitting ten feet from the glass cell, it also helped shield the garish flood lamps that were pointed at the corpse.

'Daylight spectrum lamps,' Doctor O'Hare had boasted proudly. Eric had asked why the corpse wasn't bursting into flames, then. The short, middle aged doctor scoffed at Eric's apparent idiocy. 'Only young vampires are burned by the sun,' he had answered, as if it were obvious. 'One like this… is only weakened by it.'

'Sorry, I must've missed the memo,' Eric had grumbled as he walked back to the table where he had set up his things. Him and Adam were trying to run analysis on the sword. They had quickly jumped into 'go' mode. Her job was less defined. And to be honest, less desirable.

'See what you can learn from him…' Dr. Harold Brass had instructed her, and gestured to the corpse in the cell. She wondered why he didn't have her touch the sword to learn what she could - but he was hiding something. Something sizable.

Both doctors - O'Hare and Brass respectively - had a sick fascination with the vampire in question. It buzzed around them like a hive of bees. Every time either of them approached the cell or talked about the imprisoned corpse, she could feel their adoration, their jealousness - their _need._

Idiots.

Isabel had wanted to turn tail and leave. But Eric and Adam couldn't resist a good mystery, or a 5 million dollar payday, so they both opted to stay. She was outvoted. And they were sworn to do everything as a team. And so… here she was, sitting on the floor, sitting on the other side of a glass wall from a monster that had threatened to kill her - and kill her _slowly._

"Can you speak to him?" she heard from near her.

"Huhn?" she looked up to see Dr. Harold Brass looming over her - the 'client.' He was looking at her eagerly, and peered down at her sketchbook as if it would reveal some scandalous secret. "No. That's not how this works-" she continued. "I only get feelings from people when they're having them - and he's not conscious or dreaming."

"What if you went in there? And touched him?" he asked, eagerness still pressing at the surface of his mind.

"First - no. I won't. And second, no. That's not how it works. That's not how any of this works," she finished bitterly. Some of her frustration with the mayhem of earlier leaking through. None of this should have ever happened, she grumbled in her mind. No crazy vampire who could move around in the memories and _chase_ her, no murder of her friend, none of it.

"What're you drawing? And.. why?" Dr. Brass tilted his head to see what she was working on. "An odd time to doodle."

"I need some way of getting the things in my head - out of my head." Isabel looked down at the sketchpad. It was the vampire at the piano, playing. She had focused most upon the gas lamps and the reflection against the wood of the piano. The vampire's figure was mostly in shadow.

"Ah - so, is this what you saw when you entered his mind?" Harold asked, curiously - silently begging for any detail she would give him.

"Mostly," she responded, not giving him anything. She wouldn't - no matter how kind he looked, how friendly he seemed. She could feel the river of venom underneath.

Brass waited a long time for her to keep talking - but she didn't. "Nothing else?"

"I saw nothing else." Lies were easy for her.

"And you won't go in there to find out more?"

Isabel looked up at him, and tilted her head to the side slightly. "Are you after him? Or the sword? I thought this was about the artifact… not the vampire. But you seem far more interested in him, than the blade."

Brass smiled, and shrugged slightly. "Both. The blade is a thing of great power that I want to unlock - and so is he. If I can benefit from both at the same time, why wouldn't I?"

"Because you haven't once asked me to go and touch the sword. But you _really_ want me to go in and find what I can from that thing," she pointed at the dangling corpse with her pencil. "That seems really, really odd to me. And seeing as he's unconscious, there's nothing I can do anyway, even if I agreed to go in there."

"Well," Dr. Brass started, and grinned down at her, and pointedly ignoring her comments about his priorities. "I suppose then we'll just have to wake him up."

Isabel pulled one of her feet closer to herself, reflexively becoming defensive. "I don't think that's smart. If that thing is what you say it is-"

"He is."

"-then that's an enormously stupid idea."

Brass walked away from her without responding, and called over Dr. O'Hare. She couldn't hear what was being said, but felt O'Hare's excitement swell like a hot air balloon. Isabel felt her own dread well up within her in response. He was serious. He was going to wake that thing up. And there was only one way to do that, she figured…

They were going to _feed_ it.

'Shockingly,' nobody volunteered. Vanderbilt finally, and reluctantly, agreed to be the first. He had decided that none of his men should be expected to do what he was unwilling to. The scientists were 'off limits' said Dr. O'Hare, as they were 'crucial and already understaffed.'

The heavy, sealed door to the glass cell was popped open with a hiss - and a medical table was wheeled in along with another machine that looked like some sort of medical readout on wheels.

Vanderbilt was now sitting on the table, his military tak jacket removed, and now in just a standard white t-shirt. O'Hare was bustling around, setting up the machinery. Two men tied the corpse's wrists up over its head to the chain, both making audible noises of disgust as they handled the dry, flaking body.

Although - much to Isabel's chagrin - the corpse looked healthier than when she had last seen it. It's skin was now largely attached to the bone, the tendons and muscles slowly having re-stitched back together. But that hardly meant it was whole again. A large gaping cavity still dominated its face, revealing the side of its jaw. Bits of rib and dry, dessicated flesh fell loose from the cadaver every time it was moved. Whatever good the blood had done for the creature seemed to have run its course.

The stupidity of the situation didn't seem to phase Dr. O'Hare as he stuck circular pads with wire leads to the parchment paper of its skin. Then, it was time to do the deed. He took a long rubber tube with a valve in the center and a needle at both ends, and fed the needle into the side of the monster's neck. He swabbed Vanderbilt's arm, and inserted the needle into the crook, and into the vein.

"Just get it over with," Vanderbilt grumbled, grouchily. Isabel sensed the fear radiating off of him in waves.

O'Hare, as excited as a kid on Christmas, flipped the valve and watched the crimson liquid wind its way through the rubber tube from Vanderbilt's arm, past the tube, and into the corpse.

It twitched, just barely, as the blood entered its body. Other than that, it didn't move… the EKG machine sitting next to it remained flat. O'Hare fiddled with the readout, then the pads, then sighed in frustration. Moment after moment went by as the blood ran slowly out of the older merc and into the vampire.

Isabel felt something - some twinge of something, and she stood up. Putting her sketchpad on the floor, she walked towards the glass, unsure. She wouldn't enter the room - didn't dare. But there were three inches of 'explosion proof' glass between her and the vampire. And it wasn't enough to damper what she suddenly felt.

"I don't feel good," Vanderbilt complained. "Enough, turn it off."

"He isn't responding," O'Hare complained. "He needs _more._ "

"Well it ain't getting it from me!" the merc yanked the tube out of its arm, stood up off of the table, and out of the cell.

"Wait!" O'Hare cried, whining, but sighed. There was no getting him back. Vanderbilt walked steadfast towards his men, and then half-staggered at the last step. They had bled quite a bit out of him - more than was normal, that was for certain. His men helped him to sitting.

Interesting - she observed. Vanderbilt's men were loyal to him, and him alone. Not to this weird operation. They must be a team for hire, she deduced. A security team, maybe? So who is this Dr. Harold Brass - who only had money, but no loyalty?

"You-" O'Hare was talking to her through the glass. Isabel snapped back to reality as she looked back at the little man across from her through the glass. "I need another donor. Come here."

"Oh fuck that," she said through a laugh. "Are you kidding me? Do you _know_ what'll happen?" If touching the man flashed her into some lucid dreamscape, she didn't want to even contemplate what being connected by blood would do.

O'Hare sighed, disgruntled, and stormed out of the glass cell to complain to Harold, no doubt.

Isabel stood up from where she sat, watching as O'Hare stomped up to Harold as predicted, and began animatedly complaining. Harold did his best to soothe the angry little man, and she could almost hear the promises, his gestures were so cartoonishly typical.

Isabel felt a twinge in her mind as something - a flicker of something. Turning, she looked at the corpse, strung from the ceiling and waited. Listened. Waited. Nothing. Isabel sighed, relieved. The last thing she needed was that _thing_ awake.

She approached the glass of the cell, and took off the glove from her hand, and let her palm rest against the cool surface of the reinforced 'blast proof' chamber. She felt… nothing. No flicker of anything from the inside. Thank god. Pulling her hand back, she slipped the glove back on.

As she looked back to O'Hare - he saw him walking back with… Eric. "You're fucking kidding me," Isabel said, stunned. No. No way. Her mouth actually opened in surprise.

"One more million to play blood donor? Sure," Eric shrugged. "A few CC's of blood to see if it does any good, that's all. Then I stop."

"Eric," Isabel grabbed his arm as he passed her. "That thing _ate our friend,_ " she said quietly, barely above a whisper. "And you're going to _volunteer for this?!"_

"One million. All mine." Eric shrugged. "Payday." Eric tried to step forward again, but Isabel refused to let him keep walking.

"Greed? You'll feed yourself to that thing for _money?_ "

Eric paused, looked at the floor for a long period of time, then looked at her, his eyes meeting hers. Sincere. Truthful. Exposed. That's what she got from him. "Izzy… I'm done. This is it for me. Watching Tex… almost losing you… I can't… I wanna make what I can, and go the hell home. I'm retiring. So yeah. Just… yeah."

There was such pain radiating off of him, such loss, that she pulled him into a hug, not knowing what else to do or how else to react. He hugged her back, squeezing her tightly - no risk of touching her, with her hoodie and gloves. Isabel squeezed her eyes shut tightly, trying not to cry. "This is it for me too," she said back to him, barely above a whisper.

Eric broke the hug finally, and letting out a low breath, he turned to follow O'Hare into the cell. He hopped up onto the metal table, still next to the suspended corpse - which hadn't budged or changed at all.

O'Hare repeated the routine… cleaning off Eric's arm, putting the (new - Eric checked) needle in - and then doing the same to the vampire. Not even waiting for an 'okay,' from Eric, O'Hare flipped the valve.

As she watched the red liquid creep through the clear tube up towards the corpse, Isabel felt something… a hum. A murmur. It reminded her of a flock of birds taking off, it was like a… fluttering of wings. What was it? She walked closer to the cell, holding her sketchpad to her chest as though it were protecting her somehow.

Adrenaline rushed her system as she realized what was the feeling was. And it was too late.

 _Hunger._

"Stop!" she cried - and dropped her sketchpad as she went to rush into the cell, and rip the tube out of the thing's arm.

Too little. Too late.

As soon as the red line reached the vampire… it's head snapped up. Its empty, vacant eye sockets locked onto O'Hare. The vampire snapped its arms from the restraints over its head like they were not even there. One of its talon-esque hands grasped onto Eric's arm, keeping him from running.

O'Hare screamed loudly - as did Eric. The little doctor staggered and ran out of the cell. The creature reached up, grabbed the steel collar around its neck and snapped it free like it was made out of paper.

It seemed uninterested in escape, turning towards Eric and gripping his head with one hand. Isabel, reacting instinctively, turned to run into the cell. She had to save her friend. She lost one already. But O'Hare had swung the thick door shut in his panic, and slammed the giant lock into place.

"Stop - no!" Isabel shouted. "Open that door!"

"Are you crazy?! And let him out?! He's free!" O'Hare squeaked loudly. "Those chains were-"

"Fucking _useless-"_ Isabel interrupted angrily. "I told you this whole thing was _stupid,_ but you're too obsessed with what's in there - and now it has my friend!"

"Better to lose one life than that of everyone in here," O'Hare quipped cruelly.

That was it. Isabel slapped him, and hard. O'Hare grabbed his face in shock, and just stared at her, wide-eyed and clearly unaccustomed to violence.

Isabel heard the approach of many feet, and looked around to see that the goons, scientists, Harold Brass and Adam had rushed over. But she couldn't focus on them. That thing had Eric. Locked in its cell.

Isabel turned towards the glass, and walked up to it. Eric had stood up from the medical table and knocked it over, medical supplies scattered about like childrens toys. One of them had torn the rubber tube out of their arms, and it sat on the floor, slowly leaking red liquid out of both ends.

The vampire had Eric pinned against a clear wall, its claws digging into his shoulders, keeping him from moving. Its fangs were bared from its gaping, rotted skull, and he was going in towards Eric's neck.

"No, please, oh god, no-" Eric was screaming. His screams were cut off short as the vampire bit into his flesh. His cries were cut off in a gurgle, and then a moan of pain. His eyes were clenched shut, and his squirms and thrashing had ceased as soon as teeth met skin.

Isabel half-ran around the edge of the cell, and now stood on the other side of the glass where the creature had her friend pinned against the glass in between them. "Stop!" she shouted at the creature - but to no avail. She smacked her fists on the glass, pressing her hands against it like that alone could stop him. "Don't you dare… don't you dare kill him… Don't you dare make me watch you _eat_ another one of my friends." she half threatened, half plead, her voice shaking..

To her shock… to her amazement, the vampire let go of Eric's neck. It pulled its bloody, gaping maw from her friend, and she watched as its fangs retracted into its skull. Like before, she watched as the spilled blood absorbed into the desiccated flesh like the skin _itself_ were feeding.

Even without eyes, she knew the thing was staring at her through the glass. It didn't speak. It couldn't. It didn't have to. … Suddenly she knew why it had spared her friend.

" _What will you bargain in exchange, little dove?"_ her friend said in a tone that wasn't his. In an accent that wasn't his. The voice was Eric's… but it might as well not have been. It was this thing… speaking _through_ her friend.

It didn't have a tongue. So it would borrow one.

Isabel shook her head, and staggered back away from the glass. It let out a low, hissing laughter from broken lungs, and released its grip on Eric, who slumped to the floor. Eric groaned again, and let out a choked sob from where he lay. "Help me," her friend whimpered. That was the voice she knew.

Isabel staggered back again, her hands over her mouth. The weight of what was happening settling in. She turned from the scene in front of her, and rushed through the crowd that had gathered. The sound of the minds around her, the rush of feelings - fear, panic, fascination, urgency - and her own were enough to make her want to throw up. She needed air. She felt faint.

She slid down to the floor against the column where she had been sitting, and put her head in her hands, trying to think. One thing at a time. One feeling at a time. She could hear what was happening, but could barely register it. So many voices were arguing, shouting, yelling.

'We need to get _in there and save him!'_

'And kill everyone else in here?'

'Remarkable - look at it heal - have you seen anything like this before?'

'Of course not - are you taking notes?'

'Our machines are down.'

'Open the door and let me blow that thing to Kingdom Come.'

'Your orders are not to engage the subject, under any circumstances! Do you understand? We are not going to lose this opportunity!'

'Opportunity for what, death?!'

'We should evacuate. Burn this whole place down.'

'I will not leave my friend in there!'

The screaming match between half a dozen people was suddenly silenced, each stammering to a halt, as they realized there was another noise underneath their shouting. … Laughter. A low, hissing, broken-lunged laughter had begun underneath them, and it ran through them all like icewater.

" _If I am truthful, I would admit to feel gladness in your unevolved natures since last I awoke… You are all pathetic as your kind has always been. In your baseness you can always be trusted,"_ Eric said from the floor, his voice not his own again. " _Release me… and I will spare you all to quick deaths."_

That was enough of a warning. Vanderbilt, his goons, the scientists-for-hire... all turned and fled. They didn't hesitate to gather up their things and flee. Vanderbilt, still queasy from his blood donor session, was shouting orders to his men to pack up and go. The mission was compromised. Over. They had nothing to gain from this. Dr. Harold Brass screamed at Vanderbilt. "This is your paycheck - and your career!"

Vanderbilt snorted. "You already paid us, asshole - and you're not getting out of this alive, so, what do I care? Have fun cleaning up your mess, while it lasts."

The chaos took a while to calm down - and Isabel was happy at least for a few less minds to hear, a few less piles of raging emotions. Brass was the first to speak to the vampire. He took a step towards the glass, and introduced himself, pouring on as much charm as he could muster considering the circumstance. "My name is Dr. Harold Brass. I paid to have you found, exhumed… to have your sword recovered. I have been told it is an artifact of great power. I seek to wield it."

" _Release me, and I will show you its power quite gladly."_

Brass let out a sigh. "I'm afraid that's not on the table. We can't trust you. You've already killed one operative. You have another captive. I can't open that door. Not until we can trust each other."

" _Then we will have a long time to wait."_

* * *

Immortal creatures made good on their threats to wait, it seemed.

It had been almost eight hours since the vampire had spoken or… truthfully… moved at all. It had taken up a position standing against one wall. In fact, it could have been a lifeless statue, if it weren't for the fact that it was… reverse decomposing.

It was like watching a sped-up science lab video of a rotting corpse play backwards. Muscle and tendons reattached to bone, and skin began to look… fuller. Its eyelids were now shut. Now it only looked a year or two dead - not centuries dead. It still had holes that seemed were struggling to stitch themselves back together, the most notable dominating one side of its cheek and jawline.

Eric was now sitting on the floor, his back against the glass wall. Isabel had taken up a position sitting on the other side of the glass from him. She did her best to keep him company, as little good as the comfort was with him trapped in a cell with a creature worse than a starving tiger.

Eric was dozing in and out of unconsciousness. And for good reason. They were tired _before_ this thing turned him into lunch and probably half-drained him of blood. It was past midday now. Isabel glanced at her watch - yeah. Worse than she thought. It had been _ten_ hours since the 'hostage situation' began.

O'Hare and Brass were taking turns sleeping, and when they weren't, were either on guard, or attempting to talk to the vampire. But it wasn't responding - it had gone quiet. No amount of talking, yelling, threatening, pleading with the thing got a response from it.

Adam had decided that inaction was the worst action - and with no means of saving his friend from the glass cell, had decided to work on the sword instead. Redoubling his efforts, he was running every possible test on the giant ancient blade. Her more nerdy companion had three degrees from MIT - another reason he was familiar with the area of Boston they were now in - and functioning under lack of sleep was an old hat trick of his.

Isabel couldn't really care about it, though. Not between her worry over her friend, fear of the vampire, and crushing exhaustion. She felt sleep edging in on her as her adrenaline was starting to wane. Eventually, despite her attempts to fight it, she dozed off.

* * *

Isabel loved dreaming. Well, when dreams were her own, anyway. Most of her dreams were lucid ones, much like when she was sucked into someone's memory - but now they could be fanciful, fun or exciting - stories of fiction or or fact playing themselves out in her mind.

In this dream, she was on a beach. Somewhere warm and sunny, away from the cares of the waking world. Her mind was seeking respite. This was one of the few times that they had all gone and done something 'fun' together - Tex, Adam, Eric and herself. They had a gig on some little abandoned island in the middle of the pacific - and they decided to take an extra day just to enjoy themselves.

Tex was asleep under a palm tree, hat over his eyes, beer nestled into the sand next to him. Eric was swimming - as was Adam, shockingly.

Isabel was just enjoying the hot sand, warm sun… and no work. No stress. No crazy feelings around her. Just peace and quiet.

Sadly, dreams and memories are not the same. Dreams can be manipulated for better, or worse.

Isabel felt a shadow move over her - blocking the sun from her eyes. Looking up - the sky had darkened and turned an unnatural purple - like someone had thrown a lens over the world around her. She felt a presence there in her mind - she felt _his_ presence.

Launching to her feet, she almost jumped, startled, as the ocean waves touched her toes where she stood. But it wasn't the ocean she remembered. It was no longer a beautiful, seemingly impossible shade of perfect turquoise.

It was blood.

Staggering backwards away from the rolling waves of crimson that now stained her skin, she fell into the sand. She knew who was to blame for all of this. "Get out of my _head!_ " she yelled at the air.

" _Is turnabout no longer fair play?"_

* * *

Isabel awoke with a start - her breath quickened, her heart pounding in her ears. She put her head in her hands, trying to shake the jitters that come along with waking up too quickly and for the wrong reasons.

"Are you okay…?" she heard, muffled, from behind her. Turning her head, it was Eric, who was looking at her from the other side of the cell.

"Don't ask me that," she said with a half-laugh. "You're the one… in there. With that."

"It's okay. I don't think he's going to kill me. The Master needs me for now - he doesn't have a tongue yet." Eric half-smiled. There was a madness in his eyes, one that she didn't recognize.

"Eric… what did you call him?"

Her friend only shrugged. "You heard me. And soon he'll be your Master, too. I promise."

"Eric - Eric snap out of it. Please," she begged. She glared at the vampire that still stood, silently against a wall. " _Let him go_ you asshole," she snarled half under her breath. She didn't want to draw attention to what was happening - didn't want them to know that Eric had been… compromised.

" _Again I ask what you will bargain… my little dove?"_ Eric whispered with a wicked grin that was not his.

"I'll turn it around. I want you to spare them. Let Adam and Eric go. Whole and unhurt, undamaged. No loopholes. No exceptions. They walk away."

" _You do not place yourself on that list?"_

"If I asked you to let me go… would you?"

'Eric' paused, thoughtfully. " _No."_

"I know I'm fucked," Isabel laughed in a self-mocking way. "You want me dead. Slowly. You said so yourself. Even if you said you wouldn't kill me - you'd be lying."

" _You are not entirely incorrect."_

"So what spares their lives? What _really_ spares them? No devil's bargains… No 'they end up scarred for life or blind' bullshit. On your _honor,"_ Isabel insisted, half-whispering at her possessed friend through the glass.

" _Open the door, little dove… and you have a bargain. On my honor."_ Eric seemed to snap out of his reverie for a brief second. "Don't- Don't-" he pressed his hands insistently against the glass. "I've seen what he's going to do, don't-" Eric was overcome again, and he only let out a laugh - a giggle of madness, and let out a small, contented sigh. "I hope I'm alive to watch the Master eat your entrails," Eric said with a dreamy smile at her. "I think it'll be so beautiful..."

Isabel stood up - and had to walk away. Had to get away from them both. She walked to the edge of the warehouse, and debated on continuing on. Debated on just leaving. But her conscience, her love for her friends, wouldn't let her do that.

Dr. Harold Brass saw her, and walked away from where he sat at a makeshift desk to walk up to her. "Everything alright?"

"No," Isabel snorted. "No. No it's not. That thing is seriously getting into my friend's head, and I can't… I can't sit there and listen to it right now."

Brass sighed. "I understand-"

"No, you don't," Isabel retorted. "And if you had just come forward and told us the _truth_ about your entire operation here, maybe it wouldn't have happened!" she burst out. Exhaustion and rage broke her silence over his obvious lies.

Brass stammered, and she cut him off. "You're so full of shit. Look at this! This isn't about that stupid _sword -_ it's about the corpse in that glass box. You have more equipment and money dedicated to that _thing_ you have in there, than to anything else-" she was on a rant. There was no stopping her now. "And you knew that thing was coming! Look at that cage! It's not like you just set that thing up. You knew _damn well_ that we were going to find that vampire, and _that was the entire goal"_ she hissed. "I can't just work out _why._ "

Brass's jaw clenched, and he looked askance, not meeting her eye contact. He shrugged, as if deciding that it couldn't hurt. "Immortality. If we could farm his blood - feed him, then drain him, we could use it to make ourselves immortal. Or sell it. Or-"

"Fuck," Isabel said with a sarcastic laugh. "You're dumber than I thought." Isabel shook her head, and walked away from him. Looking at him disgusted her. Her friend lost his life - and everyone else probably would do the same - for their idiotic quest to live forever. How… cliche.

She went to find Adam, and found him hunched over a computer, flicking through sheets of data that were meaningless to her. She slumped down in a chair next to him, and looked over at him. He 'hmmed' once to prove that he knew she was there. She waited patiently, knowing better than to interrupt him.

"It doesn't make any _sense,_ " Adam said, half to her, half to the data at the screen. "It's not like it's even there at all."

"I don't follow," Isabel said, smiling weakly. At least some things weren't going to hell - Adam was still Adam.

"So, look-" he twisted the laptop slightly so she could see the data. "I ran it through every machine they have. Nothing. No numbers. It's like it doesn't exist. So I figured, their equipment is broken. So I ran my watch through it - and here're the results from that. So I ran my watch through again… then the sword, then the watch again. Data, no data, data. It's like… it's missing entirely."

Isabel blinked. "Huh. … Is that possible…?"

"Well, clearly it _is,_ because it's here on the screen… But it shouldn't be. I'm trying to find a way to explain it - or get around it." Adam was tapping his fingers on the table, thoughtfully. "If I asked you to touch the sword, would you?"

"I'm afraid to… but… if it helps…?" Isabel let out a breath. "I won't if Brass asks me. But if you do, I will." She paused for a long moment, and then decided she had to say the words. Adam deserved to know. "It's possessing Eric," she muttered to him.

"What?!" Adam half-yelled, turning to her, wide-eyed. He recovered, realizing that it was probably best to keep it quiet. "What does that mean? I know it's using him to talk, but-"

"He's calling the vampire 'Master' and threatening my life," Isabel said, half under her breath. "There's like… three Eric's right now. The vampire talking, him talking, and this… fucked up Eric."

"We have to get him out of there," Adam took his glasses off and rubbed his face. "I'm too old for this shit, I can barely see the screen. What'd I'd kill to be a college kid again…"

"It wants me to open the door. It said if I did that… you and Eric walk away."

Adam turned to look at her intently. "And you..?"

She shook her head no in response. "I got inside his head," Isabel glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone was around. Luckily, since almost everyone took off, there was no one left to hear. "When I was there, inside that thing's mind… it… talked to me. We fought. It… it's not going to just let me walk away."

"Wait - so you touched it, and it could walk around inside the memory…? More like what, a dream?" Adam blinked, confused. "Isn't that impossible?"

"Well, clearly it _is,_ " she mimicked his phrase from earlier. "But no. It shouldn't be. Maybe that thing is just... Stronger willed than anyone else I've unfortunately touched before."

"So it's pissed you got into its head?"

"It threatened to kill me slowly, yeah. Now, Eric's giggling about watching while it eats my organs. So. I'd say so," Isabel sighed, and rested her arms against the table, leaning on them. God, she was so tired. The situation felt like a tangible weight pressing down on her.

Adam sat there, thoughtfully for a long time. "The odds all three of us get out of this alive…" he let it linger.

"Incredibly low. And if it's telling me the truth, if I can trust the honor of its word… I get to pick who goes down."

"You're _debating_ it?" Adam said, shocked.

Isabel stood up, and walked across the room to the machine that housed the sword - it was running some sort of scan or, test or, something on it - Isabel had no idea. She didn't really care. "Of course I am," she finally responded, and ran her hand along the glass of the protective shield. "If it spares you and Eric. I couldn't stop it killing Tex…"

"None of us could. That isn't your fault."

"I know, but I have a choice now. I can fall on the grenade. If it gets you two out of here…" Isabel sighed. "It's worth it. It's only a matter of time before that thing gets out of the glass box. And then we _all_ die. Or worse."

"I can't - I can't let you. Not until we know we don't have any other options," Adam sighed. "A few more hours… let me just pick at this stupid sword for a few more hours."

Isabel nodded. "Brass told me he isn't just after the sword. He wanted to feed that thing, then bleed it dry. And… sell it off, I guess - make himself immortal."

"He's an idiot. And that little pug he has working for him is worse," Adam muttered as he turned his focus back to his work. Isabel knew the look on his face - she could talk about raising chickens in her bathroom at home right now, and he'd just 'mmhmm' her. She smiled, and decided to leave him to it.

Walking past him towards the door, she put her hand on his shoulder, and squeezed. He placed his hand on top of hers and squeezed back. He was one of the few people who wouldn't flinch when reaching for her to make sure she was wearing gloves. He trusted her. And that meant more to her than anything.

Isabel shut her eyes as she felt tears sting and threaten to fall. She made up her mind. She'd give Adam the few hours he asked for… and then she'd do it. There wasn't another option.

She left the room, and walked back up to the glass cell. She sunk down on the ground next to Eric, and leaned her back up against the glass next to him.

"I have to piss," Eric sighed, disgruntled. "And I'm starving. And I think I'm going to puke."

Isabel had to laugh at that. He sounded like they were just on a long road trip. Eric looked over at her, and smiled faintly - and then he too, laughed along with her. The laughter faded off into a sad silence - both of them understanding the truth of what was going to happen.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, after a long pause.

"It's not your fault," she responded, smiling over at him weakly.

"I'm sorry for what he… I can't help it. I feel him in my head, like a hive of bees…" Eric rubbed a hand down his face and let out a long breath. "The master is… See, there I go again."

"You can't help it," she tried to console him.

"I _could-_ if I were _strong enough,"_ he punched himself in the leg. "But I'm not. I'm not like you. I'm not… you're so strong. Look at you - you deal with this all the time. People buzzing around your head. And you're about to get… god only knows what. Eaten? Raped? Murdered? And maybe not in that order - and you're sitting there, worrying about _me._ "

"What's that quote from Farscape you love so much? 'Fear accompanies the possibility of death. Calm shepherds it's certainty,'" she smiled weakly at him. "I pissed it off. It's going to hunt me down, no matter what."

"It's not just that," Eric leaned his head back against the glass. "The master _wants_ you. The master wants to _break_ you. He wants to see you kneel before he tears you to pieces, before he devours you whole _._ And once he has his mind set on something… that's it."

The line between Eric and the New Eric was hard to define. Isabel winced, and knew that pretty soon, he was going to be too far gone to save. Before that thing's tendrils wound itself too deeply into her friend. "Hey, can you… can you ask him a question?"

"The Master can hear you," Eric smiled at her, a bright smile that reeked of insanity.

"What's with his sword? What is it really? Why is it such a big deal?"

Eric shrugged. "Why do you want to know?"

Isabel paused, thinking of a good answer. Tell him that she wanted to know so that she could stop him, and he wouldn't tell her. But what was a good lie? What would compel him to tell her? She couldn't think of one… So she went with a half-truth, and hope it worked. "Brass is after it, and I want to know why we're all in this goddamn mess. I'm going to die - I want to know why."

" _Many believe it to be the source of my power. Many believe that if they were to possess it, they would be as I am. Many believe that I sought it out. All are untrue."_

"Great, I love riddles," Isabel replied sarcastically. "Never mind."

O'Hare approached her, looking down at her derisively - clearly not having forgiven her for the slap. And she hadn't forgiven him for getting Eric stuck like this - which was the only reason she hadn't turned tail and boarded the next flight to Australia.

"What is he saying?! Why will he talk to you, but nobody else?!" he demanded.

Isabel shrugged as her only response. Clearly not talking made this guy tick, and so she decided to use that to her advantage. O'Hare narrowed his eyes angrily at her. "It's not _fair._ Our plan was _perfect._ It's all _your_ fault he isn't working with us instead."

"How _dare you_ ," she hissed as she stood up, glaring down at the little man again. Anger and hate welled up inside of her. Spite. Distaste. Loathing would give it too much credit, this _fetid, stinking thing_ in front of her. This was an insignificant insect - clawing at greatness with no sense of respect. _Insipid little roach,_ her mind screamed. _Even the spider-eating lunatic carried more value to the world than this fat little thing before him._ Isabel felt a rush of thoughts and feelings not her own. _I will decorate the walls with its entrails before the dawn comes in the morrow._

She didn't need to ask whose thoughts those were. Her anger had tapped into his own opinions, and they rushed over her like a wave. "If I were you, I'd get Brass and go. One way or another, you guys fucked up, and your chances are gone."

"We still have the sword. And he's still paying you to figure it out. And it looks like the clock is ticking. How much longer do you think it'll be before Dracula decides he's hungry again, hmm?" O'Hare's voice was dripping with spite. "If it were my call, I'd feed you to him in exchange for his cooperation."

He stormed off - as best as a fat little man can storm anywhere. She leaned back against the glass, and slid back down to sitting. After a long pause, she looked at Eric. "Why isn't he taking that deal?"

" _I do not wish to be given that which I seek to hunt."_

Isabel visibly cringed and looked away - not being able to meet Eric's stare - as his gaze wasn't his own. She fiddled with the sleeve of her hoodie for a long moment. Without knowing why, she began talking. "So… Here're my options. One, open that door like you want me to, and hope you're true to your word and you let them go. Somehow, I believe that you will. You're a lot of things, but I don't get 'dishonorable' on that list. Two… I go and I touch that sword, and see if it gives us… some other option. Some other chance for survival."

Silence. She wasn't sure what she expected him to say - or do. "Eric?" she asked, quietly, wondering if her friend had any advice.

"I wonder if he'll let me watch if he fucks you," he replied - and that was the end of it for her.

Isabel stood up, her mind made up. She couldn't open that door if she hadn't exhausted all other options. She walked back into the room where Adam was working, and walked up to the machine that was running whatever stupid useless test on the metal. She hit the big red button on it, and it beeped and silenced its whirring.

"Hey-" Adam started, but she raised a hand to stop him. Opening up the glass shield, she reached in, and picked up the archaic, ancient blade. It was a beautiful piece of work - and heavy. It took both her hands to lift it - although she was sure the vampire wielded it with one.

"Are you sure about this?" Adam began.

Isabel nodded, and placed the sword down on the table. She pulled over a chair and sat down, knowing this thing was going to throw her for a loop. She could feel its power, even through the gloves.

Pulling the thin fabric off, she looked down at the sword, and let out a breath. She placed both hands on the cold metal.

Her mind went pure, hot white.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks again for the reviews! Here you go! :)**

* * *

' _Remember my friend, that knowledge is stronger than memory, and we should not trust the weaker.'_

' _Mankind ill needs a savior such as you!'_

' _The powerful always judge the weak. The humans made their judgment of me, as well.'_

' _There are darknesses in life and there are lights, and you are one of the lights, the light of all lights.'_

' _Welcome to my castle. Pleased to meet you. I am the master of the castle, Walter Bernhard.'_

' _So… even in death, my soul cannot find forgiveness…'_

' _A storm is coming. Mankind faces ruin and death.'_

Isabel tried to grasp onto anything as she felt awash in the noise. Tried to clasp onto any bit of herself, any bit of anything she remembered. _Who was she? What was she?_

She felt lost in a sea of voices. A sea of flashes of images, of thoughts, of deaths. Countless deaths. That's what it was, then, really - a sea of blood. As old as vast as the oceans themselves.

An ocean of souls, an ocean of blood - and her sense of self was drowning in it. She felt the push and pull of a tide, then - felt a rhythm to the pressure against her. It felt… cyclical. Flashes of imagery poured into her mind as she watched as walls and parapets crumbled into dust, only to reform. Fall, and rise. Wax and wane. Full moon, new moon and back again.

She saw the flash of the full moon, crimson against the black void of the night sky, casting the silhouette of a structure that reached up towards the sky as talons clawing at a heart. Isabel latched onto that image as hard as she could - latched onto that vision like a drowning man would a hunk of wood.

Still, the ocean of blood threatened to drag her down. She felt _herself_ begin to drift away, and become so much seafoam.

 _No!_

Latching onto that image, the castle in her mind's eye, she _pulled_ as hard as she could - yanking herself from the grip of the burning, beating tide.

She found herself suddenly standing upon a balcony. The night air was cool against her face, and the air was a welcome sensation - like a damp cloth to a fever. Looking down at her hands - she was almost surprised to recognize them. She pulled in a wavering, shaking breath and ran both of her hands through her hair, pulling on it as if it would help her clear her mind.

 **We we certain you were weak. We were wrong.**

Isabel whirled - looking for whoever, or whatever had spoken - but there was no one else there. "Thanks..?" she said, hating that she sounded so timid. She couldn't feel or see anyone else around her.

Whatever had spoken didn't feel the need to elaborate. This finally gave Isabel time to look at her surroundings, and pulled in a small gasp through parted lips. It was beyond words. Whatever this place was - wherever, whenever, it was… _massive._

Tangled structures could be seen in the crimson glow of the moon beneath her. Floating towers connected impossibly to the main structure by bridges that had no business holding up their weight. Spiraling, interconnected structures wound around each other like an escher painting. The carved, black stone had so much detail buried in each corbel and arch that it reminded her heavily of their trip to the Sagrada Familia. _If Giger designed it._ Skulls, demons, arched wings of dying creatures… she had seen this artwork before.

The door to the vampire's mausoleum.

She leaned against the granite railing of the balcony, peering down over the edge, and almost instantly regretted it. God, they were high up. Isabel didn't really have a problem with heights, but this threatened to give her one.

That's when she saw the barest blink of movement - something was flying around beneath her. Bats? No. They were… too big to be bats.

"Welcome to my home, little dove."

Her heart skipped a beat as she half-shrieked, whirling around wide-eyed and startled. Even as startled as she was - and she was scared half to death by the unexpected voice - she knew to whom it belonged.

"Oh _fuck me,_ " was all she could think to exclaim.

Sure enough, there he was, standing before her. Cut marble features looked emotionlessly down at her, his red eyes barely flickering in the dim light. He was dressed differently this time - older. Like a monarch of the 16th century - and as regal as one could be. All in black with barest touches of gold, silver, or crimson. His hair was long, and… white. Not black like previously. Yet he didn't look any older than the last time she 'saw' him.

That drew an arch out of one eyebrow. "Your statement and your inflection are contradictory. While I am unaccustomed to women making such a _direct_ and angry proposition-"

"I was _swearing,_ " she growled at him.

Thin lips curled up from their ever-present frown to a smirk, revealing his joke. "I am aware."

He took a step towards her, and she recoiled. "Don't-" she began and he… stopped.

His smirk faded, and he whirled around on his heel and walked away from her - across the balcony and through an open glass door, it's spiraling, vine-like metalwork asymmetrical and chaotic in its structure.

She didn't expect that. He just… turned and left. Isabel waited, her back still against the railing - and… nothing happened. Isabel squeezed her eyes tight, trying to wake up from this dream, this memory, this nightmare, whatever it was - and… equally nothing happened. "Great," she muttered. She was stuck, at least for now. Stuck and alone on some elaborate balcony in some bizarre, hell-dreamt building.

Grumbling under her breath, knowing what she needed to do, and yet wanting nothing more than to do anything _but_ that, she walked after the ancient vampire and through the door.

She was in a library of some kind - a small one, like a personal collection. A blaze flickered away in a large, arched marble fireplace. The place really _did_ look like the Sagrada Familia 'from hell.' Beautiful but dizzying in its detail. So much so that it was impossible to see it all.

The vampire sat, seemingly bored, in a large red chair by the fire. He had his head propped up on one hand, the light of the flame casting his features starkly and causing his red eyes to flicker and dance in the reflection.

"Where are we? This isn't your mind."

"No. It is not. You cast yourself into the captive power inside that sword - and it obeys me as it's Master. For the time being, your mind is trapped within it, and I am both here, and within the waking world."

"Oh," she responded, as if that made sense to her. It didn't, really… what was in that sword, then, that she could be trapped _in_ it? It wasn't conscious. The memory of the waves crashing over her threatened to drag her back into it, so she pushed the thought from her mind and focused on the immediate problem. "I can't wake up."

"I am not allowing you to," he responded idly.

"Why…?"

"Your friend is about to do something _remarkably_ foolish, and I believe I wish to watch it play out. If you were awake, it would ruin everything." He said it so… emptily. Like it meant nothing. He wasn't looking at her - instead looking into the fire.

Isabel swore quietly. "Adam." That was _not_ good. Adam doing dumb things usually made for a larger crater of impact than Eric or… or Tex. She clenched her fists at her sides. She wanted to rail against him - punch him, hurt him for what he had done. For murdering her friend - for doing god-only-knows-what to Eric - and god only knew what he was _going_ to do to them all.

He still wasn't looking at her - almost seeming to be distracted. "Pleading with you not to hurt them… It won't help me, will it?"

"You had your opportunity, you chose this path instead."

"I had to roll the dice. I couldn't just… give up."

"I am surprised you acted as you did. It took great strength to cast yourself into the power held captive in that blade… and greater strength of will to pull yourself out. I thought perhaps you would go mad - as all others have. And yet, here you are… whole." He looked at her then, and she wished he hadn't. There was a danger there - a deep, dark hunger that made her want to retreat. "Such strength, I will savor to watch crumble beneath me. What a joyous plaything you will be."

That made a chill wash down her spine. She swallowed reflexively.

"Fear not, my little dove…" he turned his gaze back to the fire. "No more of your friends shall die this day… I have other uses for them. In the end, you may understand that death would be more merciful."

"Let me out of here," she said to him, quietly. She tried to wake up again - tried to break free. No luck.

"What will you give me in exchange?"

That was frustrating. She ran her hands along her face, feeling the familiar scrape of her gloves against her skin. She let out a wavering, exasperated sigh. "I have nothing to bargain with."

He laughed then, and stood from the chair with a graceful movement that reminded her _far_ too much of a giant cat. He disappeared, and before she could react she felt an arm wrap around her waist. "You have everything with which to bargain. Your body, your soul, your heart, your _mind..._ "

She jumped, startled, and tried to whirl to face him - but he held her fast. He pressed her back against him, and it felt like being against a concrete wall. "But tell me, my little dove…" his head was close to her ear now, and she felt his cold breath against her skin. "Do you wish to watch as I slaughter the ones called 'Brass' and 'O'Hare?' Do you wish to watch as your friend Eric serves me as a slave? Do you wish to watch as Adam feels the full wrath of his poor choice to _free me?_ "

His other hand had gripped the edge of her hood and pulled it down away from her face. She pulled in a gasp as he ran his fingers slowly through her hair, his sharp nails dragging against her scalp. She shuddered against him - and swore under her breath. She wasn't used to being touched at all by _any means_ and she despised how quickly she reacted to him. "Please, stop-"

That was clearly the response he was hoping for, as he chuckled deep in his throat. She felt it reverberate through his chest more than she even heard it. "Stop what, little dove?"

"All of it. Stop… touching me, stop trapping me here, stop what you're going to do to my friends…"

"And ruin our game…? You ask me to deprive myself of too much." His hand had now made its way to the side of her face, his fingers tracing along her cheek and her jaw as he tilted her head up to face him. Isabel's heart was pounding in her ears as her breath quickened. She struggled again, trying to wrench out of his grasp. But she was fighting a living statue.

He lowered his head, his hair brushing against her face as he tilted down towards her. She felt his cold breath against her lips as he hovered there, an inch away. "I sense your horror… I sense your fear… I feel your body trembling," he whispered, his voice a low rumble. He lowered his head closer.

"Stop, please… Dracula-" she whispered back, her eyes shut now, unable to meet the piercing red gaze.

She felt his lips curl into into a smile. "Finally, you use my name… How delicious it sounds upon your lips." He let out a low 'hrm' as a thought occurred to him. "I will let you wake from this nightmare - but you must pay the toll." His insinuation was heavy enough - it was clear what the cost for her freedom was as he threatened to close the bare distance between them.

Anger flared in her abruptly. "Don't mock me-" she snarled and Isabel struggled hard against him, and tried to push away from him. How dare he, trap her like this, and then make fun of her?! He pulled his head back slightly, and let out another low chuckle as she fought uselessly. Isabel let out a gasp and a groan of pain as he tightened his arm around her ribs. It felt like a boa constrictor around her, and it stilled her struggling.

"Mock you..?" he looked at her curiously, as if she were an ever growing riddle to him. "I do nothing of the-" he paused. "Ah. I see…" he grinned, and suddenly his eyes flickered with a delighted, vicious predatory expression. "You believe you are undesirable… don't you?"

Isabel turned her head away from him, or rather - she tried. He trapped her chin in his free hand and pulled it back up to face him. A pointed thumbnail rested against her lower lip as he looked down at her. "So defiant you are… and yet so quick to question your worth..?" he laughed, cruelly, his lips curling in a sneer. "I will enjoy toying with _that_ little revelation."

"Let me _go-_ " she snarled at him. She hated that she was vulnerable to him. Hated that she was an open book. That was _her_ trick. She didn't like having it used against her.

"Very well." He threw her forward, and she staggered and fell to her knees with a pained grunt. Tears stung her eyes, for many reasons. But she'd blame it on the sharp jabs of pain that shot up her knees. A hand in her hair wrenched her head backwards, arching her back to look up at him. His features were cruel, a vicious sneer still pained across perfect carved features. "Witness what your friends have wrought for you. Witness what they have made."

* * *

Isabel woke up, feeling the press of something cold against her face. She let out a small 'hnnf' as she pushed herself up from where she lay. She had fallen to the floor, apparently - the cold press of concrete on her face is what she had felt.

She pushed herself up from the floor, slowly managing to get herself onto her knees. Her head was reeling, and she almost fell back to the floor. "Adam…?" she weakly croaked - but there was no response.

Bit by bit, piece by piece, moment by moment, she managed to get herself to standing. She leaned heavily on the chair that she had fallen out of. How long had she been there…?

Adam. Adam was about to do something incredibly stupid. The adrenaline that suddenly rushed her forced her head to clear.

As the ringing in her head began to die down, she began to hear voices. Two voices she recognized. Two voices she knew well.

"We're agreed, then?" she heard Adam ask.

Isabel forced herself to be able to walk, and half staggered out of the room that had contained the sword. It was missing - oh. Adam had it. Great. She saw the bodies of O'Hare and Brass laying on the ground nearby - they looked like they were out cold… Adam again, she had no doubt. Probably a tranquilizer gun - he loved those.

"Yes. The master agrees to your terms. And he suggests you act quickly-" Eric peered over Adam's shoulder through the glass. "She's awake."

Adam looked back at her, and he sighed, sadly. "I'm sorry, Izzy. I just couldn't let you."

His hand hit the large button that controlled the lock for the door, and it popped open with a hiss.

"No-" she cried. But too late.

The door flung open, smashing against the wall and wrenching itself off its hinge. The corpse stepped forward slowly - its gaping, empty eyes locked onto her.

"What've you done..?" she half-whimpered, feeling the monster's full focus trained on her. Being locked in a dream with it was bad enough - but here… here it could cause _real_ harm.

"He said he'd let you run… He said he'd let you get away," Adam said quietly, defeated. "I couldn't let you sacrifice yourself for us. I just couldn't. I'm in charge of this team, and it's my fault I failed us."

"Run, Izzy girl," Eric crooned, madness thick in his voice. "You better run!"

She had no gun, no means of defending herself. Everything inside her screamed to listen to them, to turn tail and flee. But her friends…

Eric grabbed Adam by both arms and shoved him forward towards the vampire, cackling like an idiot as he did. Adam staggered, dropping the sword to the ground with a loud clatter. The vampire grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, keeping him from tipping forward and falling to the ground. But for what good it did, she didn't know.

"No!" she cried again as she was forced to watch as the vampire wrenched Adam up, and with little ceremony, dug his fangs into his neck. Adam let out a gurgled whimper, his face scrunched up in pain as his hands weakly pushed against the vampire in a futile attempt to get away.

"Run, Izzy," Eric crooned again.

The corpse dropped her friend's body to the ground with a thump as he finished. Adam groaned in pain - alive. For now. The vampire reached down, and picked up the hilt of the blade, lifting it as he stood back straight.

The sound of the metal scraping against the concrete made her shiver.

The corpse took several large strides forward and stabbed the blade down into the concrete, digging into the surface several inches like it were nothing. It reached back one bony, clawlike hand and smashed a fist into the ruby that decorated the center of the hilt, shattering it.

 _Blood_ poured out.

A cascade of it like a fountain of the viscous, nearly-black liquid. It was like it had tapped into some sort of underground piping. But she knew better. He had set the power free - and she watched as the blood began to pool around the monster's feet, pooling around Adam where he lay. Eric was jumping from one foot to the other, clapping his hands in excitement.

" _Run… dove…_ " were the scratching, broken words from the corpse in front of her, standing in the ever-expanding pool of blood.

She was out of ideas.

So she obeyed.

* * *

Adrian Fahrenheit Tepes had been asleep for a long time.

He jumped back from the strange, smooth black surface of a roadway as a large metal machine on wheels roared past him, a horrible bleating noise emanating from it as it passed. A man was inside - half leaning out a window of a door. A mechanised chariot perhaps?

" _Get out of the road, you fuckin' weirdo!"_ the man inside the chariot shouted, one hand making what Adrian could only assume was meant to be a rude gesture.

Adrian Fahrenheit Tepes had been asleep for a _very_ long time.

* * *

Boston was not a city that changed frequently, or quickly. Residents who were around during 'The Big Dig' can tell you as much. Even when change _did_ come to the nearly four hundred year old city - it happened almost painfully slow.

So when spires began to form from nowhere - seemingly overnight - twisted, blackened spires that were once part of the brownstones of the Back Bay… it was cause for immediate - and international - concern.

The news was quick to scatter, scoping out the best views and angles, and was quick to put primped and pretty reporters in front of cameras, with the foreboding structure looming in the background. No one had information to report - but that didn't stop them from _talking._ 24/7 coverage on nothing but speculation. Was it the Russians? Chinese? Aliens? MIT? No one knew.

All anyone knew for sure was that it was _spreading._ Every night it corrupted more and more of the city around it, spreading out from a centerpoint like a disease. Each building it touched warped into a twisted, nightmarish version of its former self. Each building it touched became part of this new corrupted structure. Winding and weaving itself into an architectural mockery of some gothic castle or cathedral.

It didn't seem like any attempt to enter the structure was possible. There were no doors that could be seen - and any attempt to scale the structure to enter the windows entered… very poorly. Like a piece of coral sensing attack, the structure quickly began to "grow" a fence around itself. The old wrought iron fences that would dot the lanes of Mass and Comm ave were now a spiked, deathly deterrent to anyone who was brave enough to approach.

Doomsday fanatics were quick to descend on the town, crying out for repentance to every potential deity who might listen. Signs declaring everything from 'Praise God' to 'The Aliens Are Coming Home' dotted the crowds who gathered.

The army and national guard were quick to slap up a quarantine zone, keeping reporters, curious onlookers, and fanatics at bay. Barriers, spotlights, and men with heavy machinery and ballistics kept an eye on the growing corruption night and day.

But it did little to curb its' spread.

The _most_ bizarre thing about the dark, twisted structure growing nightly into the existing architecture - although trying to rate the weird qualities of the event seemed rather futile - was this:

No one _ever_ saw it grow.

Every night like clockwork, the corruption would spread. The iron gate would move. The barriers of the quarantine zone would crumple and fold under the weight of the iron, brick, granite and marble like so much flowing lava.

But no matter how hard one focused - no matter how many cameras or instruments were trained on it… nothing was ever recorded. Nothing was ever witnessed or remembered. But the moment the sun would rise… it would be bigger. The army would scramble to scrap what they could of their now-crushed blockade and rebuild it a dozen yards away - and every night it would repeat. Like clockwork.

It was about a week of this behavior before it seemed to finally stop its spread. It was a week of this behaviour before _people began to go missing._

Several days went by before the pattern was noticed. The news began to keep a daily tally of confirmed missing persons since the night before. (The number would change wildly from moment to moment. Panicked phone calls from mothers whose loved one simply got stuck in traffic or from bosses whose employees were a half an hour late were frequent to say the least.)

The army, the FBI, the news - scientists… No one had an answer. It was another week before the city, with great heaviness and reluctance, declared an evacuation.

Boston became a ghost town.

Few foolish people chose to remain that weren't either military, police, paramilitary, or media. No one was allowed on the streets without authorization - and being caught meant arrest and being shipped from the city. Many of the townies in the fringe areas of the city took great offence to this, and began provoking altercations with the police at every opportunity.

They would come to regret their decision to stay as the situation worsened. People began to _see_ what had made so many living residents go missing: the dead residents.

'Zombie Apocalypse' ran the headlines for days. 'Dead crawl from the ground to devour the living! More at 11.' Fringe churches from the south were quick to condemn the corrupt city of Boston as the reason for the end of the world.

The army had little trouble mowing down the rotted corpses. Skeletons were easy to blow to pieces with a few grenades and a gatling gun. But soon, more than just the dead joined the fray. Monsters. Demonic mutations and freaks of nature of every kind. It was H.P. Lovecraft's worst nightmare - now there really _were_ creatures under the North End.

At the first sight of the winged demons that now ripped through living flesh like toddlers carelessly playing with toys - the rest of those refusing to evacuate quickly changed their minds, and fled.

Only a precious few remained. A precious few who had either no mind in their heads, or nothing else to lose.

Isabel was one of those precious few - although which one she was, she wasn't quite sure. The spires and the structure that was raising itself from the existing land like a nightmare of itself looked very… painfully familiar to her.

That was what had been contained in the sword. That is what those two men she saw in the memory lock away: the sword, and the man who controlled… whatever it was… that could do such a thing.

Those two long-dead Victorians had gone through the trouble to ship the corpse and the sword across the ocean here, to New England, maybe in hopes that it would keep it hidden. And her and her friends had set it free.

Isabel had fled the warehouse, leaving Eric, Adam, and the corpse behind. (And the two idiot doctors, but she didn't really count them.) She had found their van parked in the lot just outside, and thankfully the goons had left the keys in it. Isabel had driven away - but couldn't bring herself to leave the area. Or the country.

She should have fled as far as she could. But there was a chance… a slim, tiny, spark in the darkness… that her friends could still be alive. That she could save them. Isabel wasn't a complete fool - she knew that her best opportunity was to trade herself for them - but she would.

And so, she stayed. When the city had declared evacuation - she didn't listen. She had holed up in a hotel in Brighton, hoping it was far enough away to distance herself from the thing inside that castle, but close enough while she tried to come up with a plan.

The army began to have bigger concerns than looking for idiots (like her) who refused to leave when the dead started to walk… Isabel had armed herself with what she had salvaged from their van. They no longer questioned a woman walking the streets with a rifle strapped to her back, and a pistol at her hip. They probably assumed that she was a paramilitary agent - or a bounty hunter, looking for a cash reward for demon heads - or someone hunting for a lost loved one.

After days of sitting at her laptop, clicking through old emails and trying to reach out to contacts, she finally had her only spark of a chance. There was an old contact of Adam's who lived and worked in the city - and who specialized in 'this kind of thing.' He was a priest who worked at the Cathedral of the Holy Cross.

All attempts to email him or call the cathedral were fruitless - no calls would go through, and the emails went unanswered. So… Isabel had one option left - which was to go there personally. The problem was, it was now impossible to drive anywhere in the already-difficult-to-navigate city. Barricades, burning corpses, debris and wreckage made it now entirely impassable. So… she had to walk.

 _It probably isn't smart to stay so long in one place anyway,_ she justified it to herself.

She ducked into alleys and knew how to stay out of sight. Her black hoodie was always pulled up tight over her face, and her black coat let her vanish into the shadows. And so, rifle on her back, hands shoved in her pockets, and hoodie pulled up over her head, she walked.

The structure that now stabbed at the sky like a mockery of its former structures now had seemingly begun to generate its own… clouds. More than that, it seemed to generate its own _darkness._ It's like the sun could no longer get through to it - that the sun refused to shine on the perverted building.

That made it all the more dangerous. If the monsters that seemed to pour from the structure were only afraid of daylight - they were free to roam whenever they wanted to. So she stuck to the outskirts as best she could, checking her phone's GPS regularly to make sure she was pointed in the right direction.

That was easier said than done, sadly.

The 'castle's' (that's really what it was, now) corruption had spread a long ways. It stretched now from the Fens to the common - from the Charles River to Northeastern.

Truthfully, she didn't even know if the cathedral was still standing. But she had to _try._ If Adam's contact still worked there, if he hadn't evacuated like everyone else, she might have a snowball's chance in hell of getting help.

She had reached the Longwood area when she ran into a serious problem. The corruption had spread further south than she had hoped - and was cutting off her path through to where she needed to go.

The buildings around here vacant, some with their windows blown out. The streetlamps were on, as the sun was blotted out by the weird, almost volcanic-black cloud that hung low over the area. Isabel had seen a full solar eclipse, once - and that's what the sun now looked like overhead.

Eric had been obsessed with a game that she had watched him play for weeks - it's post-apocalyptic take on the city seemed now a little too 'on the nose.'

Isabel had to try. That was her motto now, it seemed - so she had to cross through this nightmare in hopes of reaching the Cathedral. In hopes it was still standing. In hopes that the priest was still there. In hopes that he could - or _would -_ help her. Steeling herself against what might happen, she continued her trek.

Isabel made it pretty far before she ran into a problem - more corpses. Of the shambling variety. Man, she was sick of looking at corpses. Luckily, they were all fairly dumb, and easy to avoid. Weaving from alleyway to alleyway, she made her way along the streets.

Bursting from one of the alleys, she ducked back against the wall as a large military vehicle tore down the street, far too quickly. A loud, ear-piercing roar revealed the reason why.

A creature was chasing it, running on all fours. It looked like a hound, if you had fed it radioactive material and shaved it. It leapt onto the back of the last vehicle in the line, and with one wrench of its jaw, pulled the vehicle over onto its side.

Isabel recoiled as the monster tumbled end-over-end with the military truck. The sound of tearing metal and smashing glass filled the street. It finished its roll on the roof, and skid to a slow, painful scraping-metal-on-tarmac stop.

The monster had been thrown from the vehicle and was trying to pick itself back up, having been injured in the crash as well. A door flew open from the back of the upside-down jeep. It had been filled with soldiers - many of whom were now pulling themselves and their compatriots from the wreckage. Two men were struggling to pull the driver out while the others were beginning to open fire on the monster.

Isabel ran towards them from the alleyway. One of the two men saw her approach, and instantly pulled his gun on her. She put her hands up. "I'm human! I'm human. Let me help."

The soldier nodded. He stood up from the wreckage and kept his gun trained on the animal as she took over his previous job of trying to pull the driver out. He was strapped in, and the dash had pinned him in, such that he couldn't undo his seatbelt.

She slung her rifle off of her shoulder and pulled a knife out of her boot. She was smaller and less encumbered than the other soldier, so she fit inside the narrow gap in the door between the bet frame. "Hey," she said to the driver, who was conscious. He was panicking - and he flailed at her desperately as he tried to escape. "Hey!" she tried to get his attention, and pressed a gloved hand against his shoulders. "Calm down…"

Isabel could push feelings on people as part of her being an empath. She pushed the feeling of _calm_ on the soldier as hard as she could, and she watched as his hyperventilation began to slow, and he blinked - seeing her for the first time through the fading panic.

"I'm going to cut you down," she began firmly, but calmly. "I need you to put your arms up, and keep yourself from falling, okay?"

"Okay," the soldier responded.

" _There you are, my little dove…"_

Her blood ran cold as she whipped her head to the voice and to a soldier who was - _had_ \- been riding literal shotgun. The man was… very dead. His skull had been crushed in by the impact. And even as blood oozed up from the gaping hole in his skull and dripped onto the ceiling of the jeep, his mouth was moving, although the rest of him remained limp. " _I feared you had truly fled."_

" _Shit!"_ she swore loudly and quickly cut the seatbelt. Great! The vampire could possess corpses now. That's perfect.

The driver did as she had asked, and kept himself from falling on his head, and on top of her. She backed out of the cabin of the jeep. Her and the other soldier pulled the driver free, and she helped him sit against the side of the crushed vehicle. Bullets were still flying, and she could hear the shouts of the men and the screams of the monster. It was hard to tell who was winning.

Two other soldiers - too injured to fight - were leaning up against the jeep in the same fashion as she had placed the driver. He was bleeding badly from the leg. Isabel worked quickly, having some minor training as a first responder (she was always stitching up her idiot friends on a job.) Tearing off part of his pant leg, she used it as a tourniquet as best she could. "Lean here," she instructed him, and placed the soldier's hands against a spot in his thigh. Nodding weakly, the driver did - and she watched the blood slow. "Good. I'll get-"

A slurping sound next to her made her voice hitch, and broke her train of thought abruptly.

It was kind of like the sound a knife makes when you stick it too far into a pumpkin on Halloween, and pull it back out. Turning to the noise - she screamed.

A monster with dark purple skin and… nails… claws… she didn't know what to call them - blades that extended from its fingers that were longer than its lanky, thing forearm. It had attacked one of the soldiers next to her - and rammed the long blade down through its throat and through its chest. It was slowly pulling the long blade out like a breathing tube. _That_ was the slurping noise that she had heard.

The driver screamed as well, and fumbled for his gun. She did the same - but they were both slower than the monster.

It jammed its other hand's worth of blades through the driver's chest, and stood up. The bodies slid from its fingers, forgotten, as it turned to her.

Isabel was still half-prone on the ground, and was firing rounds into its chest. It hissed in pain - but they did no good in stopping it. It stepped forward, and with one quick gesture - went to end her life.

Isabel turned her head, squeezed her eyes shut - and waited. Waited for the pain.

But none came.

Slowly opening her eyes, she looked back up and let out a small squeak in her throat as a single blade of it's long claws hovered barely an inch from her head - as if it were stopped mid-strike.

But it hovered there, staring mindlessly down at her. It had no emotions. Nothing more than that of a beast. Kill. Eat. Sleep. Kill. Eat. _Kill for the Master._

She didn't even have the time to think about what this meant, or what to do - when a blur overtook the creature in front of her. Isabel threw an arm over her face as the thing was struck to the side, smashing into the upturned jeep.

The monster that had killed the soldiers let out a shriek of pain. A long, thin blade had run through its head, pinning it through to the steel of the vehicle. The impact had been caused by… a man. A man whose clothing was still settling against the momentum of his strike. He wrenched the blade from the metal and bone, and the creature burned up in a blue flame that consumed it entirely - leaving not even dust as proof of what had happened.

He looked at her briefly - and her breath hitched in her throat. What _was_ he? Features cut from ice. Eyes to match. And clothing that looked… they looked familiar. Like Dracula had worn in the dream.

Isabel scrambled to her feet as the man walked towards her slowly, steadily. Isabel raised her gun, and pointed it at him - and that was enough to stop his gait. He stood, as locked still as the marble statue he resembled. His emotions were a… muddled cloud. Guarded, and reserved. Nothing came to the surface.

His attention was drawn away from her to the other beast, and the soldiers who fought it. Turning his head, he vanished from where he stood.

Isabel took her opportunity to run. Rushing to pick up her rifle where she had put it, she turned and ran from the scene, ducking down another alley and another, weaving through the streets.

She ran until she could barely breathe - not even sure what direction she had chosen. She leaned against a burnt-out wreckage of a car, and put her hands on her legs to try and catch her breath.

"Who are you?" she heard from in front of her.

Without having made a sound - and faster than she could have tracked - the man from before with the icelike eyes now stood in front of her. Isabel let out an overwhelmed sob, and pulled the gun from her holster, and pointed it back at him. "Leave me alone…" she begged.

"You are human." It was a statement, not a question.

"Last I checked," she said between deep breaths.

"Why did it not kill you?" His face was as flat as his voice.

"I don't know," she lied. And he knew it. His eyes narrowed slightly, the barest twitch of alabaster skin. "I don't… Please, if you're going to kill me, just do it…"

"What I chose to do weighs entirely upon the truthful reply to my question."

"It's… it's complicated," she said, and lowered the gun. She knew it would be useless anyway. This thing was faster than she could _see,_ let alone _shoot._ She flicked the safety and put it into her holster. Maybe just walking away would work. "These things serve Dracula. I don't think he'll let them kill me. I think he wants to do the deed himself."

She turned to leave - but a thin sword now blocked her path - the blade extending out across her throat.

"And why, praytell, would Dracula seek your death at his own hands?"

"I don't know-" she answered, truthfully. "My best guess is, I'm the first thing he saw when he woke up, and he imprinted on me like a goddamn _baby goose._ So now as far as I can tell, he wants me dead for _fun._ Okay?!" She slapped the blade away from her throat, and glared at him angrily. "And I'm sick of _vampires_ fucking threatening me, alright?!"

The barest flicker of confusion flashed across his face as he tried to comprehend her meaning. He then let out a small breath. "You are one of the ones responsible for his release."

"Yup. And I know. It makes me stupid, foolish, foolhardy, and responsible for _all these deaths_ and all this destruction!" Tears stung her eyes again. She was overwhelmed. It took everything in her to just take it one moment at a time. And right now, this so-blond-it-was-almost-white haired, drop-dead beautiful, irritatingly cold vampire was just the last straw. "And I'm trying to save the other two idiots. And I'm trying to do the best I can. I'm trying to fix this. So _step the fuck off, chuckles!"_ she shouted at him.

That seemed to give him enough pause that it let her walk away from him. At least it let her turn away to wipe the tears at her eyes.

"My name is Adrian," he corrected her, studiously.

That, for some reason - maybe from her stress, her lack of sleep the past few weeks, the adrenaline crash - struck her as the funniest goddamn thing she had heard in a _long_ time.

Isabel leaned against the wall, she was laughing so hard. She put her back against the brick, and looked up at the sky as her laughter slowly faded off - at the dark purple-black, hazy sky. The sky the sun refused to shine through, and cast everything in a bizarre, ugly light.

Looking over at the creature that stood there, watching her, unmoving, unbreathing like the alabaster he resembled - she sighed hard. "Fine. Nice to meet you, Adrian. I'm Isabel. I'm going that way." She pointed. "And I'm going that way right now unless you stop me."

"What for?"

"A church. I'm hoping it's still there. I'm hoping the priest that is supposedly an 'expert in the hunting of supernatural creatures' is still there. And I'm hoping he'll help me make a plan to set my friends free."

When he stood there silently, she pushed herself off of the wall and began walking again. She heard the barest sound of footsteps behind her. Turning, he had caught up to her and was now only a foot behind her. She jumped, startled, not having expected him that close. He looked down at her, emotionless and empty expression.

"What?!" she demanded angrily. "What do you want, chuckles?!"

"I will accompany you. If Dracula seeks you, then I will use that to my advantage to hunt and kill him." The creature said it so matter-of-factly, it was almost intimidating. It was absolutely impossible to argue with, that much was clear.

Isabel grit her teeth, and glared at him - but again, it was like glaring at a statue. The statue didn't care. She threw her hands up in a frustrated acceptance, and turned to walk again. At least she'd have some sort of pseudo-body guard.

* * *

Adrian watched the woman that walked before him, and tried to decipher her with what little information he had. This era had changed much since the last time he had woken - and he was unprepared for its garishness.

The woman, Isabel - seemed a perfect example of this new time. She swore quickly, easily, and seemed defiant of the creatures around her. Although she was terrified, she seemed steadfast. In his years, Adrian had seen many grown men and experienced hunters reduced to terrified weeping at the sight of what horrors she had seen. He had watched her attempt to save the soldier from the jeep, uncaring for her own welfare and acting instinctually.

His father wanted her dead, she said. He was certain there was far more to that story. Although it was not unlike him to become fixated on a mortal for his own amusement, she seemed either unwilling to tell him the full truth, or unwilling to accept it.

It was hard to tell much about her. She was silent now that they walked through the burning ruins of the city. Although Adrian abhorred small talk, and was grateful she did not pepper him with questions or curiosities - it was uncommon for him not to be bombarded with questions of who, or what, he was. She simply walked ahead of him as if he were not there.

Adrian tried to deduce what he could. She was dressed head to toe in clothing that resembled that of a man. (Many women in this era seemed to do the same, albeit perhaps to a lesser extent.) A black hooded sweater under a long black coat - the hood pulled tight up over her face as if she wished to hide from the world around her. Black pants, black boots… black gloves… This was a woman who wished to go unseen.

What was it then, that inspired his father would to hunt her, such that none of his minions were allowed to lay a hand on her? Wavy chin-length hair that poked out from the hood was almost as dark as the fabric itself. She was, he admitted, of a remarkable sultry beauty that he knew his father favored. Full lips, painted a pale purplish red, and pale skin. Amber eyes that were almost an orange hue in some light.

In the era in which he was more comfortable, many women of such qualities would seek to flaunt such a thing, and dress accordingly. But not this one. This one felt overburdened, tired, and seeking to hide. But driven forward by a duty.

"Tell me of the circumstances that found you here," Adrian pried.

"Why should I tell you anything, chuckles?" she asked in return, not even turning her head to him.

That frustrated him. Her strange nickname for him. They were not acquainted _nearly_ well enough to warrant a pet name such as that. No one was. Indeed, it seemed derisive, if not insulting. "I seek to kill Dracula. In doing so, I may save your life and those of your friends."

Adrian was never one to desire praise or acceptance. His was a lot of atonement. To balance the scales his father sought so easily to tip. But to be dismissed so readily was not something he particularly enjoyed. His statement was not one to garner friendship, but to perhaps demand respect.

It seemed to work, for now at least. "We were treasure hunters. Mostly for private buyers, seeking to find some… trinket or relic. Sometimes hired by countries to recover stolen artifacts that some other private buyer had stolen." She shrugged. "We were the best at our jobs. The four of us. We were hired to recover a sword from a crypt."

Adrian couldn't help but let out a small grunt in the low of his throat - and she heard him, and understood his meaning. "Yup. You see where this is going."

"Helsing and Harker took it across the ocean and buried it with the remains," he filled in the blank.

"And we were the _fucking morons_ who dug them both back up. After he ate one of my friends in front of me-" she crossed her arms across herself at that. Adrian could see her suffering written plainly across her demeanor. "He let me live. So that he could hunt me down and 'kill me slowly.'" She shoved her hands back into her pockets and clearly tried to force down the pain. "And he's trying to make good on that threat. He took my other two friends as hostages, knowing I'd try and come to find them."

"Hm," was all he said in reply.

Silence descended, and she seemed happy enough to let the conversation die there.

* * *

"Master… we have found her. But she is now with your son…"

A voice - raspy, broken, hissing through a decrepit mouth replied. "It changes nothing. Bring her to the castle."

* * *

Whelp, now she knew what it was like to be haunted by a ghost. A silent ghost. In this case, haunted by a tall, ungodly pretty, silent, ghost. With a sword. And fangs.

Speaking of fangs.

"Hey, chuckles - I have a question," she started. Silence followed. Undaunted, she continued. "So you're a vampire. And you're going to go kill Dracula. Who's also a vampire."

"Yes."

She waited for a longer explanation. And waited. And none came. She snorted, shook her head, and shrugged it off. Fine. Weirdo.

Finally, they rounded a corner - and there it was. The Cathedral of the Holy Cross. It looked… mostly intact. A few of the windows were blown out, but those that were seemed barricaded from the inside. That looked promising - you don't barricade somewhere you don't plan on staying.

For the first time in a long time, the smallest twinge of hope plucked at her heart.

She walked across the street, followed in suit by her tall, spooky and silent vampire. Walking halfway up the steps, she stopped and looked back at him, scrutinizing him with a quizzical glance. He stopped, and raised an arched eyebrow in response. The expression looked familiar, but she shrugged it off.

"Hey uh… can you even go in there?" she gestured. "What with you, being…"

"Yes. We are not cast out by God as your kind believes."

"Oh," she responded, and for a moment said nothing. She felt like she should say more than that, but 'that's nice' or 'good for you' just seemed too patronizing. So she let out a breath, shrugged, and turned back to the door. Walking up the stairs, she knocked on the large heavy surface.

"Hello!" she shouted up at the door. "I'm here to see Father Conrad O'Malley, please. … If he's still here. … If he's still alive."

There was a long pause, before she heard a bolt slide, and the door creaked open. A man stood there, dressed in typical catholic garb. He looked terrified - and a large bruise decorated most of his face. She winced in sympathy for what must have caused it. Shakily, he opened the door another small crack. "Who… Who are you…?"

"My name's Isabel," she responded. "He's Adrian," she pointed a thumb over her shoulder. "I'm a friend of Adam Davish - Father O'Malley should know the name. Is he here?"

"Yes - uh-" he glanced back over his shoulder, and looked back at her, at the man looming behind her, and letting out a wavering breath, stepped aside and opened the door.

"Thank you," she said kindly as she walked into the church.

Isabel had always loved churches… she was an architecture nut, after all. The soaring arches and columns, stained glass and statuary… it was stunning. A remnant of another time. She wasn't particularly religious, to be honest - but spiritual, of course. This place had a vibe of… peace. Love. It washed over her like a gentle wave, and she smiled faintly. As an empath, she knew that buildings carried just as many emotions as a person could - even if they were imparted onto them by those that walked its halls.

Isabel walked into the main sanctuary, and heard the two sets of footsteps behind her. One lighter, one heavier. Turning to the priest that had let them in, she saw Adrian walk to stand by one wall, seeking to stay in the shadows.

"I'll… I'll take you to Father O'Malley if you'd like…" the young priest stammered.

Isabel reached out and placed a hand on his arm. He was nervous beyond belief - he had seen many deaths in the past few weeks. She felt the wavering faith in him, and she tried her best to push a sense of calm onto him, as she had done with the soldier. "It's okay… we mean you no harm, I promise…"

Well, she could promise for herself, anyway. Adrian, she wasn't so sure. She glanced at the stoic alabaster creature by the wall - but he seemed uninterested in what she was saying. He was looking at the stained glass windows, and she wasn't sure if he was admiring the artwork or expecting a demon to leap through it. Perhaps both.

The priest smiled faintly, and walked up the aisle of the sanctuary towards the vestry in the back. Walking after him, she shoved her hands into her pockets, and looked at the statues of saints and angels… and wondered what they thought of the mayhem taking place around them - if they even cared.

The priest knocked quietly on a door, and told her to wait in the hallway. She did, obediently, as the priest ducked into the room for a moment. After a long pause, and the sound of a murmured conversation inside, the door opened again and the priest waved her inside.

An older man - maybe in his forties or early fifties, sat at a desk in the center of the room. He looked harried, as though he hadn't slept. He was clicking away at a computer, a stack of books next to him.

"Father O'Malley?" she asked, and he looked up at her with a pained, if attempting to be reassuring expression.

"Yes. You are Adam's friend? A pleasure to meet you, even if the circumstances are… unfortunate."

Isabel walked towards the desk, and reached out a hand to shake his. He reached out as well, but she saw his eyes dart to her hand for the briefest flicker. The flag that shot up in her mind rose too early. Her hand met his, and she… _felt_ the lie.

She stiffened reflexively, and pulled her hand back to go for the gun.

It was too late.

She heard a click from behind her, and knew a weapon was pointed at the back of her head. "Don't move," the first priest warned. The wavering fear in his voice had fled, replaced with an insistent confidence.

Isabel raised both of her hands slowly. "I don't mean you any harm," she insisted.

"Too bad we don't mean the same," the older man said with a sigh. "You're going to come with us, alright? And you're going to come quietly."

Isabel was too confused to put together what was happening. "Wait… who are you? You're both humans.. You're not - you don't serve Dracula, do you?"

"We serve others," the 'priest' said from behind her. The older man walked around the table, and went to go put her hands behind her back, likely to restrain her.

Isabel took a breath - counted to one... two… and summoned every ounce of self defense training she had ever taken. Ducking, she shoulder-checked the man holding the gun in the stomach, and reached up to grab it from him. Wrapping her hands around it, she wrenched it from his grasp, shoved the barrel against his chest, and _squeezed._

A round fired off, and the man hurked, coughed, and collapsed to the ground. She whirled to point the gun at the older man, but was met instead by a fist to the back of the head. Isabel crumpled from the blow - and tried to push herself up onto her hands and knees.

Isabel barely recognized the second blow to her head before her world went black around her.

* * *

Voices were around her, and she managed to latch onto a few of them as the blackness began to fade.

"The little cunt _shot me._ "

"Do you honestly blame her?"

"... No."

"Besides, she'll wake up with a lot bigger headache than you did, so shut up."

"Whatever… Did we ditch the other guy? Was he who I think he was?"

"I think so. On both counts."

"We better have ditched him… I don't want to explain that to Maverick."

Time passed - god only knew how much - before she felt herself being hefted up off the ground.

"Don't touch her skin. Whatever you do-" she heard a voice warn.

Isabel felt like she was drugged - maybe she was - the world was a blur around her. She felt herself get placed onto some sort of surface - and still moving. A gurney? She tried to move - tried to roll over, tried to lift her head - but she couldn't. Something was holding her down. With a low moan, she realized she was strapped to a gurney.

Isabel had gotten pretty black-out drunk once - not far enough to not remember, but far enough to know she was close to it. This felt like those few hours where she was out of phase with the movements of her body. That time, it had been Tex's fault, wanting to see what she was like 'when she was out of control.'

Out of control was a good word for what she felt. She pressed up against the straps as her world was slowly, if barely, clearing. "What-" she started, her voice slurred and out of sync with her mind.

"Shush," a voice urged. The older man from earlier. "You're alright."

She desperately felt like she should argue with him, but her tongue wouldn't obey. Lights were passing over her as she was wheeled down some manner of hallway - and her stomach lurched dangerously. So she shut her eyes in hopes that it would quiet down.

The next thing she knew, she was being lifted up and placed back down - and a sound of a click finally made her open her eyes blearily - one at a time - and what she saw didn't make any sense.

"Tell Maverick that we have her."

A door, a wall, a wall with a door and a lock… A wall with bars, close together… A cell…? She was locked in a cell..?

She must be dreaming…

Her head fell back down to where it had been - something comfy was there. A pillow. Yes. She must be dreaming.

So she let sleep overtake her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Two in one day! Here we meet another couple of characters. Hope you enjoy - leave a review if you do. :) More coming ASAP!**

* * *

Isabel felt fingers gently tracing through her hair - felt pointed nails on her scalp. And god… it felt _wonderful._

She couldn't touch people. Never could - not even when she was younger. It either shut her down with her uncontrollable visions - or worse, it knocked out whoever it was that she touched. Dropped them back into their own minds and let them find their own way out.

When she was a teenager, she had a boyfriend. James. He was a funny, wonderfully bizarre, suicidal little thing. 'Goth' had been the phrase for what they were. Morbid, irritated by others, and often sitting alone to the side with friends of a similar disposition. They all believed what she was without question. Hell, half of them considered themselves witches or what-have-you.

They had sat there, listening to Marilyn Manson, Alice Cooper, Ozzy Osbourne and Rob Zombie, and James had welcomed death. More importantly, he had welcomed her weirdness.

The two of them had touched, and she had invaded his mind. And he, too, suffered the uncontrollable visions. He _loved_ the 'sessions' - loved the torture of it all - and slowly, over a long period of time, she began to be able to control it. Or at least… she thought she had.

Never more than a hand-in-hand, or a hug… finally, when those things no longer resulted in unconsciousness for either of them - he had gone in for a kiss, and she had let him.

He never came out of the coma.

The family had blamed her, of course. A drug overdose they couldn't track - but some bad influence on her part. She welcomed the blame. Even they hadn't had the _symptom_ right… the disease was the same.

And so she withdrew. Gave up any hope of romance, any hope of contact with another person. She had friends - a lot of them, over the years - and coworkers. None that she ever let get close. None that ever _wanted_ to get close, once they learned the price.

"How wonderfully tragic a tale that is…"

She woke, slowly, hearing the low base rumble of of a powerful voice near her. Fingers in her hair - oh right… That. Isabel opened her eyes, blinked, and tried to figure out what was happening. She was lying on a cot of some kind. A blanket had been pulled up over her, and there was a figure sitting on the edge of the cot, looming over her. A dark blot against a dimly lit ceiling. No features to be seen, save one.

Red eyes flickered in the darkness.

She tensed, and a finger touched over her lips. "Ssh… Be still, lest you wake. This time, my little dove… _I_ am inside _your_ mind..."

She forced herself to calm down - forced herself to swallow the panic. She didn't know _why_ she listened to him - didn't know why she felt compelled to let him stay here, in her semi-dreaming state.

"Someone has taken you... I believe they mean to kill you. I will let _no one harm you,"_ she heard him growl possessively over her. That sent a shiver through her, and she felt his hands on her shoulders, gently pressing her down into the cot, insistent that she remain still. "Tell me what you can remember... "

Isabel let her eyelids half-shut, and let herself drift backwards over the course of the day. "A name…" she murmured.

" _Tell me,_ " he demanded.

She opened her eyes again, and looked up at his shadowy form. She knew he wasn't really there - that he was invading her mind like she had done to him. In her half-drugged, half-dreaming state, she reached up to try and touch his face. She had no idea why.

She felt his hand on hers, and felt her palm pressed against his cheek. It felt… cool. Lips touched her palm, and she pulled in a wavering breath. God, that sent a thrill up her spine. Wait - what was happening..? What was she doing..?

"I believe I enjoy you like this…" he purred into her skin, and she felt the barest graze of teeth against her. "Now tell me their name… Before I cannot stop them."

She pulled in a long, slow breath, and debated her choice. She could not save her friends if she were dead. She said the names in one slow breath and felt unconsciousness creeping up on her again. "Maverick…"

* * *

"She still out?"

"Yeah. She was muttering to herself for a little while there, but then she nodded back out."

"When she wakes up, please don't forget to give her some food, okay Tim?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"No grudges because she shot you."

"Yeah, yeah! I get it, I get it."

It was a while longer after the voices stopped before she managed to pick up her head. She felt so damn _tired._ It felt like she hadn't slept in years. At least whatever they had slipped her had done a good job at letting her rest. She pushed the blanket off of her, and swung her legs over the edge of the cot, and groaned as she sat up. Her head felt like it weight a half a ton - but it cleared.

God she was really sick of waking up dizzy, or concussed, or drugged.

She remembered the vision of Dracula. How she had reached up to touch him. Why?! Why the _fuck_ would she do that?! She looked down at her hands, and blamed the dream she had been having of James. The memory of touching someone.

"Good morning, sunshine," a sarcastic voice piped from near her.

Looking up - it was the 'young priest' from the church. The one she had - wait. Hold the fuck up.

"Didn't I shoot you?"

"Yeah, yeah you did, Princess."

"I don't… I don't understand. I shot you in the chest - _point blank!"_ Isabel exclaimed. "I'm a bad shot, but I'm not _that bad._ "

The man shrugged. "Whatever. Look, I'm only here to tell the Boss when you're awake. And you're awake." He got up, then snapped his fingers, sighed, and looked at her. "And give you food, apparently. Because now I'm your babysitter. But what the Boss commands, the Boss commands."

The fake priest reached into his coat pocket, and chucked her a cliff bar. She caught it, looked down at it, and smirked. "Thanks." Okay, fine, he was mad at her… for… shooting him… and how he survived, she still had no idea. But she'd leave that mystery for another day.

"Clean yourself up, if you can," he snorted. Fauxpriest, which she decided was his name until told otherwise, walked out of the room. Fifteen minutes or so later, he came back with another man who just… screamed 'hey, I'm a vampire and I think it makes me super badass.' Leather pants, black shirt. He looked like a bad club cliche.

She let them lead her through the hallways - Fauxpriest in front, the vampire in back. She didn't fight them - she was unarmed, unprepared, and had no clue where she was. And Fauxpriest was probably really happy to pay her some pain for… y'know, shooting him in the chest.

He _looked_ human. Felt human. What the hell?

Isabel was ushered into a room with a metal table in the center of it. The chairs were aluminum - the whole place was some kind of medical laboratory. Clean, modern, sterile. Tim and the vampire that was helping him pushed her inside the room and shut the door behind her.

She was not there alone.

Standing by the glass window which overlooked the city of Boston was a man with brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, dressed in a neat white coat and his hands clasped idly behind his back. He was looking at the darkened castle across the river - she realized she was in Cambridge. In some… pharmacology firm, she assumed. Could have been any of them - there were dozens in the suburb that prided itself on science.

He turned to look at her - and one glance at his yellow eyes told her that he was another vampire. Great. But this one seemed… older than the ones she met recently. But like the room - clean… sterile.

"A pleasure to meet you, Ms. ..?" he paused, waiting for her to say her last name.

"Just Isabel," she said uncomfortably. "Skip the last bit for now, please."

He seemed confused, but, obliged. He gestured to the table, and for her to sit in a chair on one side. Fidgeting, she knew she really didn't have a choice. No point in being rude or screaming and thrashing against the glass. She went and sat down in the chair, and watched him as picked up a box from a desk, and walked to the table near her. "My name is Maverick, as you likely assumed. I would like to ask you some questions."

"Why… why am I here? Why am I your prisoner?"

"As you may now realize - monsters such as I and many more are quite real. We have existed for time immemorial, and we have always been here. There are several… vampires-" he seemed reluctant to say the word, but finally accepted it like some easy yet somewhat loathsome shorthand "-such as myself, who are considered more influential than most and therefore, in 'charge' of keeping our kind in check. Lord Dracula, upon his return, summoned us all to him and amongst his other demands… commanded that we find you."

 _That asshole said someone 'took me.' Yeah, they took me because he told them to!_ Anger bristled in her and she was careful not to let it show. That was way more than she wanted to explain right now to this stranger. Unless, she thought - this vampire 'Maverick' took her and… hasn't given her up yet. That's the only reason why Dracula would try to find out from _her_ where she was.

Maverick stood beside her, placing the box on the table. Reaching into it, he produced a syringe, and she felt fear start to boil up in her. Oh god, _what now?_

He tapped the syringe, one pale finger and pointed nail flicking against the glass. He moved towards her, and she pulled back reflexively. "What's that?" she asked - equally curious and nervous at the same time.

"It will ensure you speak the truth," Maverick spoke, his voice quiet and measured. "I do not have the luxury of time for _games._ " Somehow, she felt that he knew what Dracula was doing… knew that he was toying with her. And this new vampire was making it _very_ clear he was uninterested in such things.

The apparent scientist at first felt blank to her, but Isabel knew better. He was simply able to hide his feelings better than some. He took her wrist in his gloved hand, and turned her arm over. She knew better than to resist - he'd overpower her without trying, let alone his assistants and Tim waiting outside the room.

"Please - I don't have anything to gain by lying to you," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper - and he paused. "I'm not stupid enough to think I'm getting out of here alive. Either you kill me, or…" she trailed off, knowing she didn't need to fill in the blanks for the vampire. "You don't need to do that," she insisted. She had enough of being knocked out or knocked silly.

Maverick looked at her thoughtfully - although she felt his pause more than she saw it, to be honest. He put the syringe down on the table near her, and removed his hand from her wrist - his movements measured and precise.

"Besides," she commented idly. "A glass of bourbon would've done the same thing."

That drew a smirk from the man - his nearly yellow eyes watching her from behind his glasses. She wondered if he really needed them - or if they were just a remnant of his mortal self.

"What are you so curious about anyway - I mean, you don't even need to ask _me-_ " Isabel began, then paused, and silently answered her own question. If he said he was a servant of Dracula, then - "Oh." She looked away. If she was right - that he may call Dracula 'Lord' but he may not be a faithful servant - she'd let him confirm it. She was a good liar, and able to control the emotions she portrayed.

"Hm? What is it you have just concluded?" Maverick asked, putting a gloved finger under her chin and gently turning her face back towards him. She tried not to flinch out of his grasp.

"I was trying to figure out why you're even bothering to talk to me anyway - especially if you think you need to drug me to get answers - when our mutual _friend_ probably knows everything you want to know." Isabel took in a slow breath, and finished her though with an exhale, not enjoying the implications. "Unless he's not giving you details."

"He has, despite our inquiries, told us _nothing_ about you or why you hold such particular interest to him. All of his 'generals' were ordered to issue our best men - and for those of us who have them, companions - to fetch you _immediately._ Every night, he clamors after us for news. So you must be, at the very least - interesting to him." He released her chin from his hand.

Isabel sighed and shut her eyes, putting her hand over her face. "I'm not interesting. He gets obsessed. I'm sure this has happened before. That's all I am."

"Perhaps. So you say you are perfectly _normal._ Yet Dracula insists that you cannot be touched - and he informs us that he means it literally, and not figuratively."

"I never said I was normal," she lowered her hand and looked back up at him. "Just not interesting. Not for long anyway."

"Then tell me what I need to know," Maverick stood up, walked to the other side of the table, and sat down. He left the syringe sitting next to her on the cold metal surface - she knew it was a reminder. He was trusting her for now - up until the point he no longer did.

"What're your questions…?"

"How did you meet our 'mutual acquaintance?'"

"I worked with a small team of treasure hunters and odd-jobs. We were paid by a client to get inside a mausoleum and search for a sword. So… we did." Isabel winced, despite herself. The image of Dracula eating Tex flashing back into her mind. She'd keep that image with her for a long time. "And he ate a man."

Maverick folded his hands in front of him on the table, lacing his fingers together, and waited patiently to continue. When she hesitated, he prompted her without malice or impatience. LIke a doctor. "And?"

"He touched me… and we… had a shared vision. He told me he wanted to kill me slowly… So he let me run. The client showed up with a small army and wanted to figure out how to use the sword to his own gains… And if not that, how to farm Dracula for blood to become immortal or rich on the black market."

"Fool."

Isabel snorted. "No kidding."

"What business had you in deciphering the sword?"

Isabel paused for a while and debated exactly what he was asking her for a moment. "My gift… is useful on more than just people."

"Yes, I have heard that much." Maverick watched her carefully, his yellow eyes glinting in the overhead light. "I wish to know the specific extents of your gift."

Isabel shook her head. "That's like asking someone to tell you 'everything about themselves.' I don't even know where to start."

"You read emotions. What else?"

"Memories, vague thoughts… nothing specific. I can't tell you what number you're thinking of - I can't tell you what you… who you… had for breakfast-" Maverick laughed once, and that made her smile. "I can tell you what you're feeling. I can tell when people are lying."

"Is that why you dislike being touched?"

"No. That's why I _can't_ be touched," she corrected him, bitterness twinging her voice. "If I touch things - or people - I get a rush of details. It all floods me at once - it's overwhelming. I can see into people's memories - I can't control it. I get pulled into visions whether I want to or not. Either I get knocked out… or they do. So fine. I 'don't like' being touched," she finished and put air quotes around the last statement. "Like most people 'don't like' being punched in the face."

"You can impart information from objects?"

Isabel nodded. "Easily. Things hold onto memories just as much as people." Pausing, she focused in on the vampire, and felt a hint of a feeling and followed the string. "I can tell you that your ring on your right hand is very important to you. It was a gift to you from someone you loved dearly. You would rather lose your hand - than it." Isabel let her vision fall out of focus slightly as she thought. "If I really focus, I can almost see her."

Isabel blinked, snapping out of it as she heard a small 'tink' against the table.

The ring that she was talking about - gold, with a single sapphire, delicately placed - lay on the table in front of her. Isabel swallowed reflexively.

"Take it. And tell me what you see."

Isabel met his gaze - and he sat there, unwavering - like a statue. They were all like statues. But his yellow eyes were flickering with something more. "You sure?" she asked. He nodded once, simply.

Isabel let out a small breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She took off the glove on her right hand, and, reaching out, she let her hand hover over the ring. "Oookay," she said quietly, and picked it up.

It felt warm in her hand. And it wasn't from any body heat from _him,_ that was for sure. She shut her eyes, and let the images flow through her.

"She was the one who made you a vampire," she said, muttering almost, as the images and memories and feelings flowed over her like a river. "You loved her. And she you. You knew what she was," she smiled. These were happy memories. A young mortal man and a vampiress, smitten with each-other. It was an interesting story, one she only saw in snippets and flashes. He was a doctor, and intent on studying her 'illness.' She saw glimpses of him fussing over her, tinkering away with glass vials and bottles. She had a distinct memory of peering through an old microscope - it looked like it was from the late 18th century. A hand fell on 'his' shoulder - and she felt the warmth bristle through him in the memory, almost like it was her own emotion. "Aria," she heard him speak her name, and she said it aloud as he did in her mind.

Isabel jolted as his hand touched her gloved one. She broke out of the vision, and she saw him holding his hand palm up near her. She gently dropped the ring into his palm, careful not to touch him. She put the glove back on her hand quickly. The connection broken, she blinked and looked back at him. "I… I'm sorry." She was trembling - every connection took something out of her. She put her hand flat against the table to keep it from shaking. "I don't… I didn't want to pry."

"You have done nothing wrong," Maverick was smiling faintly as he replaced the ring back on his hand.

"May I… May I ask you something?" He looked back at her, and did not respond. Taking that as a 'sure,' she continued. "What... happened to her?" Isabel winced, waiting for the worst.

Maverick smiled faintly, almost kindly. "Why do you fret?"

"It just… I don't know," Isabel put her hands in her lap, not knowing how to answer the question. "You two just felt so… I-"

"She is not dead," Maverick smiled legitimately now - the first full smile she'd seen from him. "We are still as you saw us then, if changed by time."

She felt relief - and knew she shouldn't care. But the stupid side effect of being what she was, is that she _cared._ She always did. She was a stupid bleeding heart, and feeling the memories that lay in that ring, it was hard not to be happy that the two of them were still together. If she weren't such a bleeding heart, she would have left Adam and Eric to their own ends, after all.

"Your kindness will be your undoing, I fear."

"Arguably already has." Speaking of _Him_ \- a thought occurred to her. "Have you told… Dracula… that I'm here?" Saying the name still felt stupid. She had told Dracula Maverick's name in her semi-vision - and she felt a sudden worry that he would murder Maverick before asking questions. She scolded herself in her mind that she shouldn't care. She was this thing's prisoner, and for all she knew, he was going to rip her throat out to keep Dracula from getting what he wanted.

"No," Maverick responded, shrugging. "I wished to learn from you what I could before losing my access to you."

"Is there… is there any chance you'd let me go?"

"I am afraid not."

"Had to ask…" she muttered. "So… he knows I'm here," she warned. "When I woke up - I saw him in my cell. He was in my head - but - I'm sure he knows where I am now," _because I told him_ , she finished silently.

Maverick narrowed his eyes. "How does he have such access to you? You are untainted."

Untainted? Ew. "He hasn't bitten me, if that's what you mean. But that doesn't mean we haven't… Look, I've been in his head… that apparently gives him some kind of… of link to me."

Maverick let out a deep sigh, and stood up from the table. "I greatly appreciate your candor with me." Maverick walked around the table, and paused to put a hand on her shoulder. She let him - he had gloves on after all - and looked up at his face. He wore no expression, but she felt the sympathy there. "You will need strength for what is to come."

His kindness was shocking to her - he was the first vampire she had met that wasn't cold, or violent, or… trying to eat her. Isabel nodded weakly, feeling her stomach sink.

Maverick walked from the room, the door shutting behind her. For a moment, she was left in silence to contemplate 'what is to come.' It didn't last. The door clicked open, and she turned her head to see Fauxpriest and the other vampire from earlier, waiting. Isabel stood up, and followed.

Back to the cell. Although… somehow it felt safer than her other options.

* * *

Fauxpriest seemed to be stuck on 'guard the freak' duty. Although, seeing as he had taken a bullet to the chest, she might not be the only one in the room.

She was sitting on the cot in her cell, bored, her knees pulled up to her chest. He was sitting on the other side of the cell in a chair - also bored. Although he at least had his cellphone. By the look of it - and since he was holding it sideways - he was playing a videogame of some kind.

They had taken her phone (and everything else) when they had grabbed her, apparently. She hoped they were somewhere nearby, and that she might get her stuff back but… she doubted it.

"Hey, Fauxpriest," she started.

He snorted, and looked up at her. His shaggy blond hair was carefully made to be that shaggy, it seemed. He had a strange way about him - she almost thought for a moment he was older than he looked. Much older. She suddenly caught a flash, a feeling - the smell of popcorn and the taste of hot dogs. There was a distinct 'I went and saw the Indians win the world series' feel about him. Although that was impossible…

A lot of things she thought were impossible, weren't.

"Tim," he offered.

"Nice to meet you, Tim. I'm uh, sorry for shooting you. Y'know. … In the chest, and all."

Tim leaned up against the other side of the bars and smiled at her. "Yeah. I forgive you, I guess. Not the first time I've been shot."

"Okay, that leads me to my next problem. You're human. I know you are. And yet there's… something… really weird feeling about you."

"Oh? Like what?" he looked back at his phone.

"You're playing a baseball app on your phone. And you're remembering the time you went to the world series… In 1948."

Tim looked up, and he looked at her with one side of his lip curled up in a look of disgust. "God that's creepy. Don't do that."

"Yup. I'm a weirdo. And you didn't deny it. Which if that's true, makes you a human. Who looks like he's twenty five. But is at _least_ seventy five."

"Sweetcheeks, you're in it so over your head, it isn't even funny anymore." He pushed the button on the side of his phone and she heard the screen go dark with the telltale 'ta-click.' He stood up, walked to the bars, and leaned his forearm on the them over his head. "There's a whole, big, dark world of scary shit out there you just don't know about."

"So… clue me in?" Isabel shrugged. "I don't know what else to say. Am I supposed to apologize?" Tim was a cocky, smug bastard - she could tell that off the bat. He liked the fact that he could lord information over people. It was a sure sign that he had spent the younger part of his life struggling - his youth was hard. "It's because your daddy never hugged you, did he?"

That made Tim laugh once, hard - a loud 'bah!' "Alright. I deserved that. But y'know, nobody hugged their boys back then. And he went off to the war, besides."

" _The_ war."

"Yeah, you heard me. _The_ war." Tim grinned at her. "I was born in thirty five."

"Huh." Isabel blinked, thought about it for a moment, and then shrugged. "That sounds complicated."

She didn't know what Tim was expecting from her - astonishment, denial, disbelief. But whatever it was, it wasn't what he got. Basic acceptance of the fact.

"You're just gunna take that?" he asked. "Face value?"

"I've seen some weird shit the past few weeks, bud," she said with a weak smile. "So… how _exactly_ are you eighty years old?"

"Eighty two. And that's fair. Look. Vampires are… complicated. There's a lot of myth and stupidity around them, especially nowadays with like… youtube and anime and whatever. I'm Maverick's 'companion.'"

Isabel stared at him blankly, and he stared back at her, waiting for her to ask another question or to somehow magically understand what that was supposed to mean. Isabel decided to default to 'be a jerk about it.' "So what I've got right now is… you're somehow immortal, and a vampire's fuck-buddy? Good for you?"

Tim bust out laughing again, and leaned his shoulder on the bars, taking a casual pose as he grinned at her. "Alright - that settles it. You're okay, toots. I like a chick with some fire in her. You're gunna need that. No, it's not anything like that." Tim shifted, putting a hand in his jeans pocket. Somehow his mannerisms still screamed 1950's, even if he had updated his style. His nicknames from that era certainly stuck. "It's an old ritual. Some… weird thing to do with their blood, I guess. Mav's tried to explain it, but he's still researching it." He rubbed his chin with his hand as he talked, thoughtfully. "So, vampires get made, when one of 'em sucks you dry, and just before you die, they feed you back, right?"

"Sure," she said. She didn't know that, but, now she did.

"Companions are made, when, instead - they just like… do it halfway. A whole bunch of times. You end up as kind of a… I dunno, one third vampire. No powers, no crazy bats-and-blood-drinking shit, but… you end up immortal. And you end up like, stuck with them. Like they're your best bud."

Isabel watched him, and narrowed her eyes slightly. "Like Renfield? In the book?"

"Yeah, except he was half-baked bullshit. A rush job. And some people go nuts. … I don't eat insects."

"It's fine, you don't need to be ashamed about it-" she teased him. She shot him a grin, and he flashed her one in return. The banter reminded her of Tex. An asshole, but one that wants to play tag with it. She got along well with those kind of people.

"So you see, when you shot me - I can't die. Not unless he dies too. Vice versa. When a vamp's got a full blown companion, you gotta knock 'em _both_ off. Same time. We're a full, daylight-safe insurance policy. And errand boy," he grumbled about the last bit, but shrugged it off.

There was a long pause as she debated the reality standing in front of her. "I get why it's a secret… You're immortal. And human. If people figured that out… I saw first hand what happens when morons want to live forever.

"Mmhm," Tim agreed, and then after a long pause, looked at her intently. "So, you got Daddy Dracula all hot and bothered for you, huh?" his voice was excited - like it was some sort of scandalous secret that everybody wanted to know, and _he_ might just get to find out.

"That's… a really sick way of putting 'he wants to eat my organs,'" she said with a blanch. "And I've _seen_ that happen already."

"I heard… I saw him, I mean, recently - he doesn't look so good, still. He was really, really dead when he did that. … Most vampires don't eat people whole. Not any I've seen anyway."

"Great, thanks. Such a consolation," she rolled her eyes.

Tim shrugged. "So what'd you do?"

Isabel sighed hard. "The question of the hour." She laid on the cot and looked up at the ceiling. "Here's how it went down. He was eating my friend, and I tried to run. He touched me, and I got sucked _inside_ his head in a memory. That happens when I touch people. Usually, it's like watching a DVD reel of someone's life. But apparently in his memories, he can walk, talk, chase me and scare the _fuck_ out of me."

She heard Tim snicker, and she tried not to take it personally.

"So he told me to run. Said he wanted to kill me slowly." She tilted her head to look at him where he stood by the bars, watching her with an entertained expression. "So I think I'm his momentary diversion. His entertainment of the hour."

"So why didn't you run when you had the chance?"

"He has my friends… I don't even know if they're alive. … But I have to try and save them either way. We're in this mess together. I just… wish I knew if they were okay or not."

Tim's face fell, and he looked at her, sympathy crossing his features. "That's tough, hun. Real tough. I'm sorry about that. … If I know Mav, he's off talking to Daddy right now, so… you might know, real… _real soon_ what happened to them."

"Shit," she sighed, and placed her hands over her face.

"You might not be happy you asked," he said with a sigh. "Look, it's late. Get some sleep - I'll be outside the hallway, scream if you need me."

"Thanks," she muttered. He walked from the hallway, flicking the lights off as he did.

Isabel wasn't sure she wanted to sleep. Her dreams weren't safe anymore - and she pulled the blanket up over her. Between the stress, the nerves… the dread for what was about to happen, she was _positive_ she wouldn't be able to sleep.

Her brain had other plans.

* * *

She must have nodded off. In her dream, she was in a mayan ruin. She knew this place - she had been here before. Tex was setting up the repelling equipment - they were to go down a few stories, recover some golden idol, and come back to the surface.

Adam and Eric were to stay at the surface, make sure everything with their gear went well. "Why am I always the sidekick?" she complained at Tex, as she clipped the wire rope to her safety harness.

"Because, darlin', I don't look good in tights," Tex quipped at her, grinning his trademark lopsided smile.

"I don't get what that has to do with anything."

"Batman and Robin," Eric chimed from one wall, smiling as he typed away at his computer. "Although to be fair, they both wore tights."

"I ain't wearing no tights," Tex insisted to the room like it was a real threat.

"Nobody is asking you to," Adam reminded, sounding like a father scolding his children on a long car ride. "And nobody wants to see it anyway."

"Aw, well, now you gotta put it like _that,_ " Tex snickered. "Oh well. Time to go down the hole, eh Izzy?"

"Fine," she sighed, and walked up to the edge of the long stone shaft that went deeper into the ruin. She hated repelling - especially down dark-ass places, spotlights and flares be damned. Tex did the same, and together, they leaned out over the darkness.

It was two jumps down the tunnel before there was a weird rustling from underneath. A chitter, and a strange fluttering.

"Aw, fuck…" Tex said from next to her.

"What? What is it?"

"Just, eh… hug the wall and shut your eyes, okay hunnybunch?"

He only called her that when things were going to go very badly. So she did as she was told. She screamed as suddenly the chittering and fluttering grew louder - then deafening - and then the feeling of things flapping and slapping against her - the beat of wings, the feeling of tiny claws.

She remembered this. Bats. There had been thousands of _bats_ in that shaft, and they had scared them. Isabel had been shaken up, but escaped with nothing more than ruffled hair and a few cuts and scrapes.

But this time it went differently.

It was a dream, after all.

She felt her wire rope lurch, and she screamed again, and desperately tried to cling to the walls. Another lurch - and then a snap. She heard her friends scream match her own as she fell, plummeting into the darkness.

The fall seemed to go on forever - a horrible, gut-wrenching and terrifying forever. Just as she thought it would never end, the impact happened.

Only in a dream could you take a fall like that and survive. But her mind seemed hell-bent on making her suffer, as in the dream she felt the pain of broken limbs. She had hit the rock floor, and was unable to move.

Something else was wrong. She looked down - and in the dim light of the flares they had dropped before they descended - she saw she had landed on some.. Kind of pole. Or _spike._

She was impaled through her abdomen. Her hands flew to the injury - like somehow it would help.

Isabel cried out in pain in the dream. She heard another noise then - a rustling. From the darkness, she saw a figure approach. A corpse, moving faster than seemed possible - its head locked onto her like a tiger in the hunt, steady as it rushed towards her. It was a corpse with parchment skin and a gaping hole in its face - empty eye sockets locked on her.

Isabel couldn't find the breath to scream as the monster was on her in an instant, the nightmarish features lowering down on her as it dug its claws into the flesh of her shoulders, digging through to bone.

The only noise she could hear was a deep, terrible laughter.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you everybody for the wonderful reviews! :) It keeps me writing. My updates may space out a bit in the weeks to come as my work picks up, but I'll do my best. Thanks again, hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Isabel seemed lost in a corridor of dreams and nightmares.

She felt her ribcage peeled open - felt the bone and sinew snap and give way as wolves tore at her - felt her limp, dead body twitch as the creatures ripped at her, peeling meat from what was left of her rotting corpse.

Then, she was running - running as hard as she could. It took her half a second to realize the shapes in the night whipping past her were trees. Something was chasing her. Isabel heard the snapping of trees behind her as something enormous smashed its way through. She tripped, staggered, and fell. Hearing the roar of a gigantic creature, she rolled onto her back.

Hovering over her was… a demon. A dragon. Both. Its claws, black as night, dug into the ground on either side of her head. It was _gigantic._ The creature had five eyes - three on one side, two on the other… and they were glowing a bright, fiery red. The monster's maw was dripping blood - and as its massive jaw opened, the blood leaked from its mouth as though it were bleeding. It let out a screech - an ear piercing cry as it it drove its head down towards her, ready to sink its fangs into her and break her into pieces.

Another door, another nightmare.

Her ribcage was peeled open again - this time by men. By _vampires_ \- but no better than the wolves. Splayed out on a table like a suckling pig, her body was split open down the center. They were devouring her with no more reverence than a Wall Street executive would mourn as they cracked the shell of a lobster.

They laughed and conversed about something else entirely as she felt herself die upon that table. She waited for her vision to go dark - but she was in the world of dreams. In dreams, death did not necessarily come so quick.

She heard their conversations. "Lord Dracula… do you believe such an immediate appearance is wise? You are not yet fully recovered."

" _I do… what must… be done._ " The voice was raspy - pulling air into the decayed lungs was painful, even as they filled with fresh blood. She knew it hurt - she could _feel_ it. The voice, although it was a shadow of it's 'normal self' - she knew it well. She could hear it now like it was almost her own - and she knew what was happening.

Whose mind did they now occupy? Whose dreams, his or hers?

Did it matter anymore?

A hand closed around her throat - a painfully thin hand, although when last she had seen it in the waking world, it had been just bone. ' _This is what awaits you, if I am kind,_ ' she heard in her mind. ' _This is a quick death compared to what I hunger to see done to your soft flesh.'_

The threat sent her into a cold chill in the dream - even as she was this half-corpse, spread open on the table as a feast. But she was never one to take threats without a response. This was dreams, and dreams didn't have to make sense. It was a battle of wills, wasn't it? Isabel didn't know where she drew the strength - she didn't know where she summoned the _gaul_ \- but she closed her hand around a steak knife on the table next to her.

She lashed out, suddenly and unexpectedly - and rammed the steak knife into the side of the vampire's face.

Isabel awoke as the sound of his scream faded into the sound of hers. She was lying on a cot, shaking - her heart pounding in her ears as the adrenaline rushed through her. "God _damn_ it," she swore under her breath and pressed her hands against her face.

This was getting stupid. If he wanted her dead, she wished he'd just _do it already._ In one moment, he's urging her to help him find her, for fear of someone _else_ doing the deed. He wanted to kill her. Slowly. And he wanted it to be _his_ doing. No one else's. "Possessive little _fuck,_ " she swore again, as her heart began to slow back down to normal. "Fuck you." Swearing at him didn't really help at all, he couldn't hear her - but it made her feel a little better, anyway.

"Nightmares?"

Isabel jumped, and nearly fell off the cot. Who the - oh. Tim. She looked over, and rubbed her eyes as she saw him standing by the bars. The lights had flicked on - his doing, no doubt - and she was now squinting against the fluorescent glare.

"Yeah. I get them frequently," she muttered. "Side effect of the 'job.' But lately they haven't been _private_ ," she sighed angrily and swung her feet over the edge to sit up.

"Mav told me Dracula's already gotten into your head. Something vampires can only do with people they've bitten - yet you're clean. That true?" he asked, matter-of-factly. She respected that about him - out of everyone she'd met in this misadventure, he was the only blunt one so far.

"Call me lucky. It sucks."

"Yeah, yeah it fuckin' does. I hear Mav in my head all the time, and I _signed up_ for this bullshit." Tim sighed. "Hey, but, yours won't be permanent, anyway, right?" He shrugged, trying to sound helpful.

Isabel narrowed an eye. "Did you just pull a 'don't worry, he's only planning on killing you' routine?"

Tim shrugged again. "Doing my best here, toots."

"One, that's sad. Two.. thanks? I guess?"

"No problem," he replied with a smirk. "Anyway, I was about to come get you up. It's time to go."

It's not like Isabel liked being a prisoner locked in a cell. It hadn't been the first one she'd spent some time in, and this one was at least cleaner than most. But the thought of wherever they were taking her was worse. She had two options: Either Maverick was going to take her behind a shed and shoot her, or he was bringing her to Dracula. Either way, she lost.

"I know," Tim said, seeing the look on her face. "I know. I'm sorry. But there's nothing I can do. Mav told me to take you to the lab showers and let you get cleaned up, if you want."

"Yeah, sure," Isabel stood up and shook her head idly. Like a last meal before an execution. "Might as well be spring fresh for dying.."

Tim unlocked the cell and stood aside, letting her out. "Sorry, toots. I really am. You seem like good people." He shrugged.

Isabel shoved her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, and smiled faintly at him. "Even if I did shoot you."

"Even if you did shoot me," he confirmed, and lead her out the door and down a corridor. He was walking next to her, more like a friend than a jailkeeper. "Speaking of. Try any shit and I'll have no problem hurting you."

"I won't. What's the point?" Isabel shrugged idly. "I don't know how to get out of here, and Maverick has enough men with guns, that I'll get stopped. And even if I got out, then what? I guess I'll go back to trying to find someone to help me rescue my friends? I tried that once, it didn't work out." She paused, thoughtfully. "What _did_ ever happen to the priest I was trying to find?"

"They left," Tim said with a shrug. "We found the place abandoned when we went to set up and wait for you."

"You found it… how did you know to go there? How'd you know that's where I'd go?" She blinked, confused. Nobody knew where she was headed.

"Dunno, to be honest. Orders came straight from Dracula. There were a couple places his 'generals' were told to set up camp and wait. That was one of 'em."

"That doesn't make any sense…" she muttered to herself. "I don't get it."

Another shrug from Tim, and that was all he had to say on the subject. A few more turns, and they were in what looked like gym lockers. Signs on the wall loudly proclaimed that the showers were to be used by laboratory scientists only, and were not for 'casual use.'

"Should be everything you need in there," Tim said and took up his post outside the door and shut it behind him.

She walked in, looked around, and saw a glimpse into another life. Here was a pack of scientists, dutifully going about their lives - their drama, their happiness and sadness, their loves and hate. All working for a vampire. She wondered how many of them knew? Probably not many…

Better get to it, she scolded herself. Not poking around other people's lives. She took off her hoodie and slung it onto a bench, followed by the rest of her clothes. Isabel idly touched a scar on her arm that she had received from an adventure in Jordan. 'Didn't even cry,' Tex had boasted proudly of her to the others when they had come back out of the ruins with a rag tied around her bleeding arm. 'And I can't stitch for shit.'

She felt tears sting her eyes again and she let out a wavering, frustrated sigh. Tex. Poor Tex. She wouldn't let Adam and Eric suffer the same fate - if she could help it. If they weren't already dead. Isabel was afraid she'd know sooner rather than later, and that the knowing might be worse than the wondering.

A twist of the knob, and hot water began pouring from the stainless steel fixture. Climbing into the shower, she was shocked how good it felt. She let herself enjoy the feeling of the warmth for a long minute before cleaning up.

Turning off the water, she pulled a towel in from the rack next to the shower stall and let herself relish the feeling of the clean fabric. Opening the stall, she blinked, seeing a second set of clothes folded next to hers. Clearly meant for for her.

"Peeping tom!" she yelled towards the door, and just heard Tim's loud laughter from the other side.

"Mav's not about to drop off the prize turkey smelling like B.O.," he yelled back through the door.

"I'm not a- and I didn't - Oh fuck you," she yelled back, but couldn't help the grin on her face. She only heard Tim's laughter in response again.

The new clothes were her size, and they were fairly nondescript. Underwear, jeans, dark red tank top. And a black hoodie, tags still attached from the store. She smiled despite herself and shook her head. Was she that predictable?

Changing, she had to admit the new clothes felt nice. It's not like she had packed for living in Boston for _weeks._

Slinging her shoes and her gloves back on, she walked out of the door and looked at Tim with a genuine smile. "Thanks for the hoodie."

"Made them go get one," he said with a shrug. "I don't want you touching me. I don't need another person in my head," he said with a small smirk. "And you're welcome. C'mon. They're waiting."

She walked alongside him in silence as they made their way through the building. As they got to the exit, they were joined by two men with guns. Tim stepped in front of her, stopping her short. Isabel looked at him, curiously.

Tim looked at her with an 'this is stupid, but protocol' expression, and pulled out a pair of black handcuffs. Gesturing for her to turn around. She did so without complaint, and put her arms behind her back. She felt the metal snap around her wrists. Isabel walked back out, feeling like she was now officially walking to her own execution.

Looking up at the sky as she walked out, she saw it was just past sundown. Of course it was. The sky was still a faint blue of the fading light.

With Tim's help, she climbed into the SUV. Although he did 'accidentally' slip when helping her and let her smack her head into the door jamb. "Ow," she snapped at him.

"Whoops," was his sarcastic reply.

Isabel finally sat down in the seat, somewhat uncomfortably with her arms behind her back. Sitting across from her was Maverick, dressed in black business attire. Next to him was a woman, whose face she recognized, even if she had never actually seen it before. That must be 'Aria.' Maverick's wife. She was beautiful in a classic way with dark hair, and bright green eyes that belied intelligence. Isabel wondered idly which one was the 'smarter' of the two.

"I apologize for the restraints," Maverick began. "You have demonstrated that you can be… resourceful and unpredictable."

"I'm not sorry, for the record," Tim looked at her with a grin.

"Yes, fine, I shot you, get over it already," she replied, which made Tim snort in laughter.

"In as much as Tim is capable of such things, I see you two are making fast friends," Aria said with a faint smile.

"For what it's worth," Isabel responded, her bitterness leaking more into her voice than she had intended. The car was moving now, and it was driving through the abandoned streets, towards the structure that was looming over the building tops, across the river from where Maverick's lab was located.

Great.

Dread welled up in her as she saw it - the bony spires like claws, stabbing at the sky that was now perpetually _black_ behind it. "Any chance you guys could just… kill me now? Tell him I did something dumb?"

"You do not fear death at our hands - but you fear it at his?" Aria asked, curiously.

"You haven't heard what he's threatened to do to me," she mumbled back and shrank back into the seat as much as she could with her hands behind her back.

"I regret to say that we have no compelling reason to do so, as we must serve Lord Dracula," the female vampiress responded.

"I don't blame you," Isabel replied with a sigh. "I just had to ask." After a pause, she looked to Maverick. "Tim told me that you guys were told where to find me - but I don't know how that's possible. Nobody knew where I was going."

"Dracula had a short list. As to where he received that information, I do not know," Maverick responded dryly. His elbow was on the sill of the SUV window, and his hand was curled with his chin resting on it. He seemed uninterested at the surface, but she could sense his nervousness underneath.

"You're not a fan of him, are you?" she asked, getting straight to the subject.

Maverick glanced to her, then back to the window. "I have no inspiration to trust him," he replied after a pause. "I do not know him. But, he is the creator of us all - and for that reason, I must obey him." Maverick paused before adding, "He can never truly die, and for that reason I must fear him."

"He… is the creator of you all? What do you mean by that? Like, you're in his… lineage, or whatever the hell you people call it?"

Maverick smirked. "Yes. But not in the manner you mean. Dracula is the _first_ vampire known to walk the earth."

Isabel blinked, and silence fell over them for a long moment. "The first..? Wasn't he… I mean, the 15th century, right?"

Aria smiled sadly. "He has had many names. My master, when he lived, knew him in Germany as the nachzehrer Reinmar von Brux - in the 13th century. Before then, he called himself Gabriel for many centuries."

Isabel looked down at the floor, and let that sink in for a moment. "Why change his name?"

"Over time, he has known to come back to this earth somewhat changed since his previous appearance," Maverick replied, still sounding skillfully detached, despite his nerves. "So perhaps he found the previous names no longer suited him."

"Or boredom," Tim inserted. "I vote boredom."

All of it sunk in at once. Her situation was hopeless before, but now… Isabel couldn't help but laugh sarcastically at herself. The three in the car looked at her for explanation. "I'm sorry… I'm just… I've really gone and fucked myself this time."

No one had a response to her undeniable statement, and they sat in silence for the remainder of the ride. The car stopped, the doors opened, and Tim (ungracefully) helped her out of the car. They stood on the side of the street by the Public Gardens.

Isabel looked at the statues that dotted the street - and saw they, too, had fallen to the corruption of the castle. Bronze castings of distinguished men were now twisted, violent - grotesque.

A tug on her arm, and her time to observe was over. Turning her attention back to Tim, she followed the group down into Arlington station. "Where're we going?" she asked curiously.

"The entrance to the castle," Tim responded. "Nobody gets in or out unless Daddy Dracula approves, and so there's only one door right now."

The green line sucked before - but now it was a disaster. The walls were twisted in on themselves, eating posters and signage alike. Ads that had once touted the next ballet or most recent food-ordering app were either beyond recognition, or changed and perverted. Instead of a beautiful woman in a pink tutu being caught by a man wearing tights - she was being devoured by a demon.

Isabel looked away, remembering her dreams. This castle _consumes._ As does the creature that 'owned' it. And she was on the menu.

Green line trolleys were smashed against each other, warped with the impact that had set many of them on fire. Tim helped her jump down onto the tracks, and they began walking up the tunnel towards the back bay - towards the center of the structure.

The four of them - Aria, Maverick, Tim - were joined by several vampires that were likely Maverick's personal guard. They were heavily armed, but had no body armor. Why bother? One in the front carried a large flashlight, which cast light up the warped tunnel ahead.

The longer they walked, the stranger the tunnel became. Soon, the walls were no longer cement, but raw stone. Then, statues began to appear carved into the rock - resembling demons, fallen angels, dragons. And their prey. Soon, the statues were holding large bowls, in which there was fire that burned a wicked blue color.

Then… a door. It looked remarkably similar to the one that guarded the entrance to the tomb - the Hieronymus Bosch-esque feast of the living to the damned. This was it. The entrance to the castle - the only way in, or out. Once she set foot past that door… there was no chance in _hell_ she was getting back out.

Isabel's steps faltered as fear grabbed her whole body in one swoop. She dug in her heels, and turned to bolt - but she didn't even make it two inches before Tim had her upper arms in his grasp.

"Don't get squirrely now," he urged. "I got fifty cc's of a tranquilizer in my coat that I don't wanna use on you, alright?"

Reflexively, she wanted to cry - to beg - to plead for him to let her go. But her rational mind won out. What good would it do? Just tire her out? 'Solve the problem first, have a breakdown later,' was Adam's opinion of fear.

That didn't stop the tears from stinging her eyes, and she couldn't stop one from falling, as Tim pushed her forward. "I know, I know toots…" he coached her quietly. Talking like someone who was about to put down a dog.

As they approached the monolithic door, the gate slowly - and silently - swung open. Doors like that shouldn't move without any noise, and it made it even more disconcerting.

A blur of motion streaked by her - and she heard Tim let out a choked cough. Turning - she watched as he, wide-eyed, collapsed to his knees. Blood was pouring out of him from the - stump - that was his arm. She staggered away in surprise - and the sound of yelling and gunfire ensued. She ducked against the wall. The echos of the gunfire was earsplitting in the echoey tunnel.

Whatever had happened, it was over as quickly as it had started. Finally able to look up, it took her a long moment to process what had happened.

Maverick, Aria, Tim, and the other vampires that had come with them… were all dead. Maverick and Aria's heads were lying near their torsos, as the blood ran from their necks. Tim had almost been cut in half - his eyes staring sightless up at the ceiling of the tunnel.

A man stood amidst the blood and gore, a sword that was so thin it was nearly a rapier in his hand, dripping in blood. He pulled a cloth from his pocket, and carefully cleaned the crimson liquid off the blade.

The figure turned to look at her - and eyes that were nearly white, they were so pale, met her amber ones with a total lack of expression. Beautiful, cut features against a dated yet regal outfit. Blond hair that matched his eyes in their icy nature.

"Adrian..?"

* * *

Alucard watched as the woman pushed herself from the wall, her steps tentative as she looked, agog, at the gore around her. He did not blame her - she was unaccustomed to such violence. He was surprised, truthfully, that she did not scream.

She had changed clothes since last he saw her, three days prior - but still she dressed as a person wishing not to be seen, the hood of her coat pulled up on her head.

He expected grateful sobs, thanking him for doing a deed that he felt neither joy nor guilt over. Instead, a look of regret and sadness crossed her face as she looked down at the bodies at her feet. Curious.

"You mourn them." It was a statement, not a question.

Isabel was now looking down at the body of the young companion that had been bound to the older male vampire. She shut her eyes, took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Finally, she opened her eyes to look at him, now having chosen her words. "They weren't cruel."

Adrian nodded, once, and understood. In a world of monsters that take great pleasure in the suffering of others, she appreciated those that did not. He did not blame her. But it was what must be done.

"He has the keys to the handcuffs, if you wouldn't mind…"

Ah. Yes. Adrian stepped forward and over the corpses without a second thought, and reached down. A quick search of the body of the vampire's companion found the key.

"Thanks," she said quietly as he released her hands. She rubbed her shoulder with one hand, and couldn't take her eyes off the bodies. Isabel shook her head. "I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't feel bad - I know I shouldn't… But those two loved each other, and this guy… we could have been friends."

Adrian watched the woman studiously, and after a measured pause, decided to reply. "It is simpler to believe that those that we must destroy are but heartless, soulless creatures. Truthfully, they are no different from any of us - and have a capacity for love and kindness in equal to that of cruelty and hatred. It does not change what must be done."

"That's the most I've ever heard you talk, Chuckles."

Ah yes. That nickname again. Wonderful.

"How'd you get here?" she asked, finally looking up from the blood that was now pooling at their feet.

"I have been following you since you were taken from the church. I knew them to be agents of Dracula, and I knew that they would lead me to the entrance to the castle, in time."

Adrian expected frustration in that she had been used to locate the entrance. He expected frustration that he had not saved her sooner. Instead, she simply went 'huh,' and shrugged. "Makes sense."

Oddly rational for an empath, he observed.

He watched as Isabel stooped down, and gently shut the eyes of the vampire companion, and ceased his empty stare. He heard a muttered apology to the man leave her lips. As she straightened back up, she met his gaze. "I have a choice. I can turn tail and run in hopes that he doesn't find me. Or I go in there, with you or on my own, and try and find my friends."

"Neither ends well for you," he stated bluntly.

Again, rationally, she only nodded at his statement, and did not lash out at his heavy implication that she would die or come to harm either way. "What would you do?"

That caught him off guard. Adrian could not remember when he had ever been asked for his opinion. He blinked, looked down the dark tunnel that lay past the open gate of the castle, and thought.

"I would accept my death as the price I would pay to see wrongs done right." The statement, he realized, applied to him as well. Was he not the same as her, the living dead and caught in his father's web?

Thrice now, he had fought his father and been successful in stopping him - but how many more battles must he wage before he fell to his father's hand? Before Vlad no longer took pity on his son and 'let him' be the victor?

Isabel let out a long sigh from next to him, and picked her way over the bodies, hoping over the carnage as best she could. She stopped at the entrance of the gate, and looked back at him - a faint smile on her face. How she managed to find any levity in this situation was beyond him. "Let's go, Chuckles."

* * *

Isabel walked behind the blond vampire, her hands shoved in the pockets of her hoodie. The man was _not_ a conversationalist. Any attempt on her part to strike up some kind of interaction was met with simple, single-word answers and was abruptly dead in the water.

An overwhelming sense of duty is all she caught from him. An unflappable and unwavering dedication to _do_ something. Kill Dracula, probably. There was a great sadness behind the stoic determination. But there was also a great pride to wear his burden. An egotism to his purpose.

Man. She really found the winners, didn't she?

Isabel felt… awful about Maverick, Aria and Tim. She knew she shouldn't though. They were her captors. They were going to give her to Dracula. _Stupid bleeding heart,_ she scolded herself silently. _They weren't your friends. They could have been worse to you, fine. Could have beat you up, fine. But they weren't going to help you._

Meanwhile, they walked. The place seemed impossibly large, and she wouldn't be surprised if it was somehow bending dimensions - doors went to places that they had no business connecting. An underground tunnel to the ramparts high above the city, to another place which looked like a great hall of some kind.

The archways soared overhead higher than could be seen - disappearing into the darkness of the dimly lit chamber. Lanterns - looking like the old gas lanterns of Beacon Hill - dotted the columns as they walked up the center of the room. It seemed this place took on some of the characteristics of wherever it appeared.

But it wasn't the statues of demons and angels or the bleeding paintings that made her uneasy. It wasn't the foreboding, stark architecture that made her nervous that something was wrong. It was one thing that seemed very, very out place.

It was empty.

They hadn't seen… anything. Anybody. Nothing moved. The place looked deserted. Seeing as the streets outside were littered with the walking dead and monsters - why was it so empty _inside_?

They had been walking for hours - moving from space to space, each feeling distinct from the last. It was a maze, and she knew that if she were to turn around and go back, she'd never find the same place twice.

"Hey, Chuckles-" she began, finally cutting the silence.

"Stop calling me that," he responded.

"I will when you smile once," she quipped back. "Anyway. Um. Have you ever been here before?"

"Yes. But it is a cloth woven anew each time it appears. It will do me no good in navigating its halls."

"Yeah, okay, but.. Um. Where is everybody? Shouldn't this place be filled with like.. Monsters and shit?"

The silence that ensued didn't make her feel any better, at all. Finally, after what felt like a minute, he finally responded. "I do not know."

Even the building itself felt… quiet. Knowing that this was what had been inside the sword that they found with Dracula, she expected the whole place to be overwhelmingly 'loud' in her head. An overwhelming sea of blood, of hunger. But no - even then, it seemed like a low hum. A low tremor of power, but nothing more.

It all felt almost like a dream. The strange, incongruous spaces attached to each other like nonsense. The impossible architecture and floating passageways. And the feeling that the castle itself was always watching.

Conversation fell into silence again, and she went back to quietly observing the place around her. They rounded through another door. And Isabel burst out laughing.

"I fail to see why this is amusing," Adrian said from next to her. His unhappiness very apparent in his voice.

Isabel had to lean against the wall, she was laughing so hard. It was one of those kind of laughs that one does when everything is bleak and hopeless, and then shit just gets _worse._

They had been walking for hours. Maybe six, seven? Who knew. Hours of marching around… and they were right back where they started.

The entrance stood in front of them. Door shut, now… but the same tunnel they began through. They had walked in a giant circle. No, more likely, _this place_ had walked them in a giant circle.

Isabel walked over to a stone outcropping and sat down, leaning against the wall with a small puff of air. Her feet were killing her, and she was happy to get the chance to sit down.

Adrian was glaring at the gate they had stepped through to enter the castle like somehow the door was at fault.

"Okay, so… whatever is happening, it's stalling for time," she tried to piece the puzzle together. "It's walked us around in a circle - which is great, I mean, clearly I needed the exercise," she grumbled. "And nobody, monsters or otherwise, have shown up."

Adrian stood silently, still glaring at the door.

"You said you've been here before. So it's safe to say that 'the man in charge' knows who you are?"

"Yes."

"Are you a real threat to him?"

"Yes."

"And does he have any reason to tell his creatures _not_ to try and kill you?"

"... No."

"Then I'm the reason," she concluded. "Dracula's told me that he wants me to suffer… but was concerned that Maverick - the vampire you killed earlier today - was going to hurt me. So he doesn't want anybody to do the deed but himself."

"So why not come for you?" Adrian asked, finally turning from the gate to look at her.

"I think he's toying with me," she observed, looking off down the tunnel, not liking the realization. "He wants to hunt me. Wants me to run from him. He can't do that with you here - and probably is trying to figure out a way to split us up."

Silence was her response. He simply stared at her. She couldn't read any emotion off of him at all. "Chuckles?"

"Stop calling me that."

"Smile _once_ and I will. So far it's the only thing that gets a rise out of you," Isabel folded her arms across her chest. "As far as I can tell, you come in two modes. 'Nothing' and 'annoyed.'"

"I fail to see what this has to do with our situation."

"It doesn't. Not in the slightest," Isabel stood up and winced as her tortured feet were put to task again. "I guess I refuse to die on the inside just because I'm about to be dead on the outside." Isabel turned and started to walk again. She wondered if the path they would take would be the same, or if the series of doors and hallways would lead them down some other path.

Isabel glanced behind him to see if he was following her, but he wasn't. He was just standing there, watching her. "Are you coming?"

"No."

Isabel stopped, and turned. "Look, I'm sorry for calling you-"

"You are correct. This place will not let either of us progress while we are together. So we must split." He walked up to her then, and reached into his coat - and produced a dagger, handing it to her hilt-first.

She took it, and looked down at it, shocked. "You're kidding me."

"Use it to defend yourself, or end your own life if you must. It is blessed, and will do great harm to the things that dwell here," he said, matter-of-factly. Like the worst kind of doctor telling her she was dying of cancer.

He turned from her, and began walking the other way from her. "You're going to leave me on my own?! Here?!"

"The monsters will not harm you," he pointed out as he opened the door to go back into the castle the way they had just come.

"What about- you can't be serious - you're really-" she stammered.

"If I find your friends," he said quietly as he looked over her shoulder. "I will do what I can to save them or end their suffering."

And with that, he shut the door, and he was gone.

Isabel swallowed hard - trying to think. She walked back to the stone she was sitting on before, and flopped back down. Looking at the dagger in her hand, she thought long and hard about just stabbing herself with it now. Isabel was as good as dead, anyway.

But Adam. Eric. She had to do anything she could to save them… even if she was now alone. She punched herself in the thigh, hard, and let the pain from the blow push the emotional pain from her mind. "Fine. Sure. Fuck it. Why not," she exclaimed to herself.

Standing up, she looked at the door that Adrian had gone through - she knew if she opened that door… there was little chance she'd wind up in the same place the vampire had gone. The castle had what it wanted - they were split up.

Turning the other way, she walked down the hallway, her hands stuffed in her hoodie pockets. Without any other option, she just… walked.

* * *

God, walking around by yourself was boring. The sites were beautiful, in a horrible, twisted kind of way - but still, there was no one around. She had been walking for - if her phone was right - three more hours since Adrian had ditched her. Three more hours of incessant walking and silence.

She ran her hand along the hilt of the dagger she tucked into her belt loop - and debated again just stabbing herself in the throat with it. But she had to help Eric and Adam - even if it was very likely too late, she had to try.

Isabel began to hum to herself as she walked - anything to fill the deafening quiet. Another turn, another door, and she pulled up short. She was in a room that she could only describe as a… statue gallery. Marble carved images of gods, demons, and angels lined the walls. Each one holding a bronze weapon of some kind. Each one towering over her on their pedestals, cast in a stark light by the blazing fires around them. Isabel felt very… small… in their presence.

Isabel walked past them, slowly - not liking this one bit. Statues always kind of creeped her out, and now it seemed like these were designed to be creepy. Isabel kept turning her head to look behind her - fully expecting the statues to have moved. Luckily, they seemed content to stay put.

Didn't mean she trusted them.

Finally reaching the end of the corridor, her hand outstretched for the doorknob, she heard a noise. Like the rustle of fabric. _Shit-_ she swore in her head, and didn't turn around. Not yet. Turning around would make the danger real. Turning around would make whatever it was behind her a tangible threat. For this moment, like Schrodinger's cat, there was both something there, and nothing. Looking would solidify the fact.

Isabel cursed herself in her head for wanting the wandering to end. Seems she now had what she had asked for. Her hand still on the doorknob, she turned halfway to look.

Standing in the center of the carpeted hallway - looking like a black blob of ink against the marble walls and statuary… was Him. The vampire. The monster. Red eyes, glittering in the darkness, bored into her.

"Hello, my pet…"

Isabel almost melted in a puddle of goo, right there. The fear that gripped her was overwhelming, and she threw open the door and bolted from where she stood. She heard his laughter from behind her.

She barely paid attention to the corridors she was running through - contrasting flashes of blues, golds, crimsons, black… didn't matter. He let her run. She knew it was pointless - she was trapped in a maze of his design, of _his_ ownership.

Bursting through another door, she found herself on a rampart that overlooked the center of the castle. The cold air against her face was a relief, and she was gasping for air into her burning lungs. She wasn't a trained runner, and she had already been exhausted. She leaned a hand on the stone wall, and half-doubled over, breathing hard enough that she saw spots in her vision.

"Are we quite done?"

Isabel straightened up and whirled around, and found him standing behind her, looking as though nothing had happened. Pointing out quite easily that the running… had done no good whatsoever.

Dracula took a step towards her - and she stook a step back. That made him smile, his lips turning into a cruel upturn. "Ever defiant, you are…"

The vampire was no longer a corpse - he looked fully mended. His skin, while pale, was no longer sunken into bone. His long black hair was tied at the base of his neck, and his clothes were reminiscent of that which she first saw him wearing - a dated, if well tailored suit.

"My friends-"

"You had a deal to spare their lives which I agreed to fulfill. You opted to go another way. Did you forget?" he said, watching her movements like a lion on the hunt. He took a step forward again, and she another one back, trying to keep distance between them. "You came here to… what… save them?" he sneered, mocking her. "Foolish girl."

"Are my friends okay?"

"I think I would rather not say just yet," he replied with a slight tilt to his head, watching her as if to memorize every flicker of movement.

"I had to try," she muttered, feeling the weight of the futility of it.

"I am grateful for your kind heart, do not mistake me… How else would we now be as we are, wrapped up in this wonderful game?" He reached out to touch her, but stopped himself, and grinned wickedly. "I wonder… in this waking world, if I can yet place a hand upon you without feeling your wrath?"

"Let's not find out," she took another step back.

"Where would the fun in that be, I wonder?" He stepped towards her again - this time quickly closing the distance between them. One of his hands snapped around to the back of her neck, holding her through the hoodie.

Isabel thrashed, and kicked at him as hard as she could. He dodged, but his grip on her loosened just long enough that she could slip out of the hoodie and away from him, staggering away from him as fast as she could.

Unfortunately she forgot that she was on a stone wall. A stone wall with crenelations that were at knee-height. Her foot met the lip of the stone, and her momentum shifted dangerously. She heard someone yell 'no-' and she wasn't sure who it was. Him, or her.

Before she could really register what was happening, she stumbled, fell backwards… and kept falling. She watched with a scream as the wall flew up and away from her as she plummeted from the rampart.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey everyone! Thank you all *so* much for the reviews. I do really appreciate them! Here's the next chapter - hope you enjoy! It was a tricky one.**

* * *

Isabel remembered falling.

She remembered the vampire, stalking her like the prey that she was. Leaping at her, and a struggle… tripping over the edge of the stone wall, and then she fell. She remembered the feeling in her stomach as the rampart sailed away from her as she plummeted from the edge.

A swarm of something dark had flown over the edge towards her - birds? Oh. Now she remembered - bats. Of course, bats.

Shock must have set in - as she didn't remember anything else after the falling. Just nothingness. Her exhausted mind and body had just faded out, and accepted her fate.

Isabel wasn't sure where she was - it was the kind of dark that she wasn't sure if her eyes were open or shut. Was she awake? Asleep? Dead or alive? How long had she been awake? She had _no_ clue whatsoever. Reaching out, she felt her hands press against a hard surface, six inches away from her face. She felt… fabric.

 _That_ much, she could tell was real. Her mind latched onto the feeling of the velvet under hands as she tried to figure out what was happening. Wherever she was, it smelled faintly like… roses, maybe? It was hard to tell. What happened? Where was she? She pressed her hands against the surface, trying to move it - but it didn't budge. She reached out to each side and - more hard surface with fabric over it. Inches from her - maybe six or so on each side, like what was over her face.

Walls on three sides - close to her. Fabric. Darkness.

Oh god.

Oh dear god.

Sheer and unadulterated terror flooded her as she realized where _exactly_ she was.

She was in a coffin.

She balled her hands up into fists and smashed them as best as she could against the lid of the coffin - but all she received was a hollow thump and a pain in her hand. That only increased her fear, as she began to struggle wildly, pushing as hard as she could on the lid over her. Her heart was racing and her breath was coming in short gasps as panic took over. "Help-" she squeaked out. "Help!"

Something was suddenly holding her wrists - something had grabbed hold of her, and was keeping her from thrashing. It didn't help her fear.

"Be still."

The unexpected sound made her freeze.

She felt the rumble of the voice against her back - and realized… she wasn't in here alone. Isabel wasn't completely sure whether or not that made it better or worse. Hands had closed around her wrists, and were folding them back down against her. The arms attached to said hands were now wrapped around her, still gripping her wrists - firmly, but not painfully.

Now she knew what was happening. Isabel was trapped in _his_ coffin. And now he held her, arms wrapped around her as he kept her from struggling. She hadn't felt the warmth of another body inside the coffin, as he had no warmth of his own.

Tears sprang to her eyes, and rolled down her cheeks. "Please, let me go," she begged, barely above a whisper.

"Hush," he urged quietly. She felt one of his hands release her, and then felt the gentle scrape of his nails against her cheek. She kept still, if only because she was terrified of what would happen if he touched her.

He seemed unconcerned. His fingers brushed against her cheek and… nothing happened. Her mind didn't flash hot-white and trap her in some nightmare or memory. She felt his fingers brush along her skin, wiping the tears from one of her cheeks.

It was the first time she had been touched - in reality, not in dreams - in over a decade.

Even though she was not pitched head-first into his memories, she felt the press of his will against her own. Felt him press close to her, and knew it was _his_ control that kept them from descending into his mind, not hers. Tendrils of his power were trying to wind their way into her - trying to exert control. She felt tired, and felt the desperate need to sleep - and knew that was his influence.

She fought him off - keeping him at bay. Isabel had learned and practiced the ability to tell her thoughts from another's. She had to learn that from a young age - or else she would have lost her sanity long, long ago. "Stop," she pleaded with him again.

His fingers trailed along her jaw, and she felt him tilt her head upwards, towards him. She was trembling - she couldn't help it. She had never been touched like this in her life _._ A sharpened nail traced the line of her lower lip, and she felt his face close to hers. The brush of a goatee against her skin, and she jolted. His other arm only tightened around her - just enough to remind her that struggling was pointless. The hand against her chin had slid slowly to cup the side of her face, the thumb under her chin, holding her still.

Lips descended onto hers, and the feeling of his cool skin made her mind empty of thought. He kissed her - not forcefully, not viciously - but with an intense hunger that she could feel radiating from him. A hunger that she felt like it was hers. In that moment, her resilience was stripped, and the strength of his will crashed over her like a wave. Exhaustion hit her like a two-ton weight, and she felt her mind fade out into darkness.

At least this time, she did not dream.

* * *

Stretching, feeling the sensation of a pillow under her head, Isabel slowly woke up. She was comfortable - the air was chilly, but there was a warm blanket on top of her. That was a combination that made her not want to move.

Her hand curled into the pillow and she stretched her aching limbs again. Her legs were tired from so much running and walking, and were happy to not be upright.

It took her an embarrassingly long time to remember what had happened before she fell asleep. Tim, Maverick and Aria slain by the vampire Adrian. Adrian abandoned her to pursue his own quest, once realizing he couldn't achieve it with her there. The chase, the fall, the coffin… then what followed…

That woke her up _real_ fast.

Opening her eyes, she tried to figure out where she was now. At least there was light - it was a room, not the inside of a coffin. Rubbing a hand across her face, she sat up. She was on a chaise lounge, where a pillow had hastily been placed for her and a fur blanket thrown over her. A fire crackled in a fireplace on one wall, and a figure sat in a chair in front of it, cast starkly in a flickering silhouette.

Like the dream when she had touched the sword. This was one of his rooms.

She swung her legs off the chaise lounge and stood up slowly. Isabel could felt the seconds tick by as she waited for him to do… anything. Say anything. He didn't. He just sat.. elbow on an arm, chin on the back of his hand, looking into the fire with an empty expression save the perpetual frown.

Her eyes darted to the door - as though running for freedom would do her any good at all. She was trapped in his world, now - he proved his point earlier, when he caught up to her without any effort. She might as well be in a hamster wheel.

But _man,_ she wanted to run.

On a table nearby, she saw the dagger than Adrian had given her. Dracula had placed it there on purpose - there was no doubt. Even though she was sure he was attempting to prove another point to her, it was her only sliver of self defense. Isabel walked slowly to the table - her eyes still on him, waiting for him to move. She grasped the hilt of the blade, and picked it up.

"For what good you think it may provide," he said, breaking the silence. The sound of his voice almost made her almost jump out of her skin. _God damn it,_ she swore at herself in her head, struggling with her fear of him. No matter how hard she tried to tamp it down, her pulse quickened.

"Better than nothing," she responded, barely audibly. She hated how much terror was obvious in her voice.

"Use it, then."

Isabel blinked, confused. Whatever she was expecting him to say, it wasn't that. "What?"

"You plan to either use it on me, or on yourself. If you truly intend to do either, get on with it. See how far you make it before I stop you."

Isabel looked down at the blade, and knew the hopelessness of it. His threat was clear. She was woefully unequipped to kill something like him. And if she tried to kill herself, he would stop her. She was his to murder, and no one else would have the 'pleasure' - not even herself.

Frustrated, angry that he pointed out how pointless her only sense of defense actually _was_ , she put the blade back down on the table with a clink.

"Perhaps you can return it to my son if again you meet," Dracula said quietly, his voice low. Still looking into the flame. "As it was a gift to him from his late mother."

She almost heard the record screech in her brain. "Your - What?!"

"He did not tell you. Not surprising." Dracula stood, all in one graceful motion. It made her recoil reflexively, taking a step away from him. But she wasn't his target, and he didn't even glance at her as he walked to one wall and to a bar. It was a beautiful marble and obsidian piece, with several crystal decanters and glassware on top. He poured himself a glass of dark red liquid. "May I offer you a drink?"

"I- Uh- I don't- I mean-" she stammered, feeling very off kilter. What the hell was actually happening to her?! She gripped the back of the chair next to the table and felt the wood surface against her hand. She realized for the first time realized that her hoodie and her gloves were gone. She was only in the tank top and jeans that Tim had provided.

"It is wine," he glanced at her over his shoulder, a faint smirk on his sculpted features. "I assure you."

"S..sure," she finally stammered out. _God yes,_ is how she responded in her mind. She needed a drink. She needed several, at this rate. What in the _actual fuck_ was happening to her right now? Dracula was offering her a drink. Dracula. The Dracula. Instead of ripping her throat open, or whatever he planned to do. Her mind struggled to grasp onto one particular bombshell, and with no other way to discuss the absurdity of her life right now, she went with that. "So Adrian is... is your son."

"Yes. And he, to make the story short, _incessantly_ seeks my death to keep my wrath from harming the humans his mortal mother adored - before she was _falsely burned at the stake_." It was clear an old wound had been opened - but the flash of anger was gone as fast as it had come. Dracula poured her a glass of wine, and walked towards her. He held out the glass to her, and she - feeling very much like a frightened deer, reached out to take it - as if every potential second he might reach out and claw her face off.

But he did not move - instead stood patiently as she took the glass from his hand - careful that he did not touch her, and retreated another step back from him.

"Thanks..." she responded, weakly. No need to be rude. She had the sudden urge to throw the glass in his face and run out the door. But to what end? There was no point. Isabel sipped the liquid - and was relieved to find that it was, in fact, actually just wine.

Dracula turned from her again and walked back to his chair by the fire, and sat back down. She stood, watching him - thoughts racing through her at a million miles an hour.

He had threatened to kill her - to make her suffer. He had hunted her down, sent creatures to find her. And now, here she was.. Standing in a room with him, quietly, with a glass of wine in her hand. What. The. Hell. The silence hung for minutes. Finally, with nothing else to say, she responded. "I'm sorry..?"

That made him chuckle, and he sipped his wine as he looked into the flames. "It was a long time ago."

Silence descended over them, and she looked down at the glass of wine. Her hand was shaking. _Fuck it,_ she thought to herself as she downed the glass in one go, and put it on the table next to the blade. Liquid courage, after all. She would have preferred bourbon, but - beggars, choosers, and all that.

Time to rip off the proverbial bandaid. "What're you going to do to me?" she finally had the nerve to ask.

"I am not fully certain yet," he replied, one hand stroking his goatee as he idly mused. "I have thought through this to great length since I awoke. I know the path forward, but where it ends will largely be determined by you."

"Do you _have_ to talk in riddles?"

He chuckled again. "Have another glass of wine, if it will better calm your nerves," he ignored her question.

Isabel rubbed her hand up and down her arm, not used to having it exposed and feeling the air on her skin. She was almost always clothed head-to-toe. If she was going to die here, if he was going to torture her, another glass of wine couldn't hurt.

Walking across the carpet, she went to the decanter, and poured herself another glass - albeit with shaking hands. She sipped it, and wished it would work faster. Time to rip off another bandaid. "Are my friends okay?"

"They are alive."

She turned to him - her eyes wide with surprise. "Don't lie to me."

"You can sense when others lie, can you not?"

"Yes, but-"

"Am I lying?"

She paused for a while, and thought about it - and… no. He wasn't. Nothing about him felt like a lie. In fact, she didn't know if the vampire had ever - for all his horrible deeds - tried to lie to her. "No," she gave that one to him. "Are they… are they okay?"

"That is a matter of opinion, I am afraid."

Not the answer she wanted - although it wasn't surprising. Isabel chewed on her lower lip, thinking. "May I see them?"

He looked at her, then, his red eyes flickering in the firelight. A thin, cruel smile played across his lips - one that reminded her exactly with whom she was talking. "Very well. But what price are you willing to pay?"

"Pay?" Isabel said through a self-mocking laugh. "Don't be stupid - you have everything you want. You could kill me-"

"Ah, but I do not wish you dead… Not yet."

"Then you could _take_ whatever it is you _do_ want," she pointed out sharply, angry that he was toying with her.

"Ah, and there you have it - the crux of your current predicament." He seemed pleased that she put the pieces together. "I wish for you to give me something of your own accord," Dracula grinned wickedly. "The continuation of our game - is your _willing_ surrender to suffering."

Isabel shook her head, confused and unsure of what to say. He was threatening her with torture, and now that torture was something she'd have to accept willingly, to save her friends. Her heart sank, and she felt the hopelessness wash over her again. What the hell could he possibly want from her? Isabel didn't have to debate it for long.

"Allow me to drink from you, and I will let you see your friends."

How she could suddenly feel so cold and so warm at the same time, she had no idea. The words hit her like physical blows. Her face was flushed, even as she felt ice in her veins. Isabel turned away from him, not able to meet his crimson gaze any longer.

That brought a laugh to his lips, as she stood with her back to him. She walked to the table where the knife sat, and honestly debated slicing her throat with it. She wondered how far she would make it before he stopped her. Isabel gripped the back of the chair with her one of her bare hands, picking at the woodgrain with her fingernail - something she never had a chance to do, always wearing gloves.

If he wanted to bite her in exchange to see them… Maybe she could end the game in one move. "What will it cost for you to let them go? Alive and unharmed?"

"You had your opportunity, and you wasted it. Now the price has gone up, and it is far more than what you are willing or able to pay at the moment."

Wincing, Isabel downed the second glass of wine, placing the crystal on the table with a clink, and she heard him chuckle again in response. "No more riddles - is there a price to set them free?" she asked again.

"See them first… it may change your outlook on the situation, little dove."

Isabel shut her eyes tightly, and put her hand over her face. Her friends were alive - but whether or not they were 'okay' was a matter of opinion. But this is what she came to do. This is why she threw herself into the mouth of hell. To her certain death. To save her friends.

For all intents and purposes… she was already dead. What did it matter anymore?

"And if I say no?" she asked, quietly - afraid to know the answer.

"Then I feed from you anyway, and you may keep your pride in your agony."

Every sentence out of his mouth was another wound - another nail in the proverbial (or literal) coffin. And yet, her mind wanted to cling to the futile hope that there was some version of this where she got out alive. Some version where her, Eric and Adam walked out those doors together. But that was gone, now. It had never existed to begin with. God, it wanted to make her throw up. Or cry. Or both.

So there was only one option left in front of her, even as it made her stomach churn in fear.

"Okay," she said, barely above a whisper. She gritted her teeth, and then let out a long, slow sigh as she tried to accept what was going to happen. It took a while for her to force the word out of her mouth. "Fine..."

Hands landed on her bare shoulders, and she jumped. Isabel hadn't heard him approach - and she shouldn't have been surprised by that. He laughed at her startled reaction, and she felt his fingers trail up her shoulder to the base of her neck. His fingers wound their way into her chin-length, wavy hair, and she felt him toy with a strand, idly wrapping it around one of his fingers.

"Resist me in any way - struggle, or protest - and our deal is broken."

She gripped the chair harder, and gritted her teeth as she felt his nails run along her scalp. She wanted to hit him so _very badly_ for touching her. She turned to face him, and found herself stuck in between him and the back of the chair. He was looking down at her with a mild, pleased smile. He looked very proud of himself.

"You don't have to be so _fucking_ _smug about it,"_ she snapped bitterly up at him.

Dracula only grinned broader at her words. "Such a fire burns away in you... So rare for one of your kind that are so easily tempered or broken by those around them."

"You've known other empaths?" she was legitimately curious - as she had never met anyone with a gift like hers.

"I have lived countless centuries, my pet… I have seen more kinds of people come and go from this earth than you could possibly imagine. Creatures like you - 'empaths' if you will call them such - are not so rare when you consider the whole of history."

His red eyes were too intense for her to deal with - not with him standing so close to her. He had loomed over her in their shared dreams - visions, whatever they were. But in reality, it was far, _far_ harder for her to cope with. She turned her head away from him.

A single finger under her chin turned her face back. "And yet, I do not believe I have ever met one _quite_ like you..." he leaned his head down towards hers - and she wasn't sure if it was for a kiss, or… or god only knew what.

"Oh bull _shit,_ " she abruptly ducked under his arm and walked away from him, folding her arms across her chest. It had caught him unprepared, and he let her move away from him. She wanted to shove her hands into her hoodie and hide - but - no dice. "Don't feed me cheap lines."

"I fail to understand."

"Don't you dare… I can suffer all of this, I can deal with… with whatever I think you're going to do to me, or worse - fine. Whatever. I'm as good as dead anyway. I won't fight you while you do god-knows-what to me if it means it saves my friends-" she ranted, still standing with her back to him. It made her nervous to not see where he was - but looking at him made the turmoil worse. "But don't you fucking mock me while you do it."

"Mock you?"

Dracula was looming behind her again - she could hear his voice close to her ear. She flinched reflexively. He liked to do that - _loom_. To use his height advantage and his demeanor to intimidate. It was undeniably effective. She tried to turn to face him - but his hands clamped down on her shoulders and kept her locked in place.

Isabel pulled in a sharp gasp, and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ignore the feeling of his cool hands against her bare skin. Her reaction wasn't lost on him, as he stepped closer to her. One of his hands slid down her arm, slowly - making sure she felt every _inch_ that he touched as his hand slid from her elbow, slowly across her midsection. His fingers splayed out against her stomach and pressed her back against his chest. "Explain to me how this _mocks_ you."

His voice was a deep, baritone growl in his chest, and she could feel the rumble against her. Her mind almost went blank at the rush of sensations, but she struggled to keep her wits about her. "Don't pretend I'm _special_. Don't insult me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. He was far too good at robbing her of control.

"Mmh-" she felt him press his face into her hair, the hand that had been resting against her shoulder moved to run through her chestnut waves. Sharp nails ran along her scalp as his face hovered near hers. He chuckled then, low and deep in his throat. "Such a puzzle, you are…" he murmured to her softly. "A contradiction. So defiant, and yet… such loathing for yourself and your condition lurks beneath the surface…"

"I don't-"

Isabel never got the chance to argue before moved in one swift motion - all she could do was yelp as he whirled her to face him, stepped her backwards towards the chaise lounge until she half-fell, half-was-planted into the upholstered surface.

He slung one of his legs onto the chaise lounge and straddled her, pinning her under him. It wasn't until he hand released her shoulders that she could protest. "Wait-" she started, but Dracula placed a finger against her lips.

"Remember our deal, little dove… Protest or struggle, and our deal is broken."

Isabel shut her mouth, and gritted her teeth, and visibly winced as she struggled with herself. She wanted to punch at him, claw at him, do anything to push him off of her - but if she did… So instead, she glared.

He laughed, and she felt him run the pointed nail of his finger along her lip, as he drew his hand back. "How delightful." Dracula tilted his head to the side slightly as he watched her - as if memorizing every movement she made.

"Just… get on with it, already," she said, breaking the silence.

"Now now," he pressed a hand against the arm of the lounge near her head, and leaned himself down towards her. "These things… must be savored."

"Fuck you," she growled up at him.

"Mmhn - I suppose I did neglect to declare that obscenities should count under 'protest.' But you are bending the spirit of the deal."

Isabel pulled in a sharp breath and held it as he ran his fingers along her collarbone. She squeezed her eyes shut as the feeling of his cool skin against hers pulled the rug out of any anger she might feel.

Isabel felt his consciousness close to hers, as he touched her. Anyone else, and she would have been pulled into their memories. But he was in control. In every possible sense. She _hated_ being at his mercy.

"This time, my little dove… I think perhaps we should explore _your_ mind for a change," Dracula commented idly as his fingertips idly traced the contour of her collarbone.

"You don't count invading my dreams?" It took every ounce of focus just to get the words out.

"Hardly… What you do is far more invasive than the parlor tricks I perform. I have been dying to see what lives inside your mind… It is only fair."

"Wasn't part of the deal," she opened her eyes to glare at him - finding solace in her anger.

Dracula's grin didn't falter. "Very good. I was worried you may make our game too simple."

"This is my _life you asshole-"_ her temper got the better of her. She shoved his hand away from her collarbone and to the side as her anger flared. She sat up as much as she could, with him straddling her legs. "My life is not a game. You _ate_ one of my best friends _in front of me._ You're holding the other two _captive_ and using them like cards in a poker game _._ We aren't toys-"

His hand snapped around her neck, and pushed her sharply back against the arm of the chaise. Dracula cut off the rest of her words as he shut off her air. Pain flashed hot-white around the edges of her vision as his red eyes narrowed down at her. The wicked grin had vanished, and a cruel, passive expression had taken its place. Her hands flew to the one around her throat, trying pointlessly to pull his own off.

"Ah, but to me… you are but toys. Your brief lives flash before me like fireflies in my endless night. I may marvel at your beauty, yet you are not but insects still. As soon as you are seen, your light is over. Your friend - 'Tex' was it? I felt his soul flee his body as I took his life. As I did so, what he _was_ became part of me. Do you want to know… exactly what kind of a man he was, my little dove? Did you know he had a wife and child he abandoned? Hm? That he had shot a man in cold blood for drugs?"

He finally let up his grip on her throat, and let her breathe. She gasped, and resisted the urge to cough. Her mind was struggling to catch up with what was happening. Dracula lowered himself down closer to her, and she felt his cool breath on her cheek. "You invade the minds of those you touch… I take into me the minds of those I kill. The things he wanted to do to you… The things he wished he could make you feel…" Dracula laughed, quietly, and she felt his lips graze her cheek as he pulled his head back to look down at her, red eyes blazing. "Would you like me to show you?"

Isabel could only let out a small noise as he leaned back down into her. This time, the hand around her throat slid up to cup her chin, and tilted her head away from him. She felt his tongue slowly run along her neck up towards her ear, and she whimpered despite herself. Her back arched as she writhed underneath him. It drew a low laugh out of the vampire - and she felt his lips press against her skin.

The hand that had gripped her face now slid around her back, pressing his palm against her between her shoulderblades, and pressed her up against him. She heard a deep… _purring_ noise from him then - and her fear peaked. Her hands were gripping his vest, balled into the fabric, terrified.

"N-" was all she managed to squeak out.

That is when it happened.

She felt the pain of something piercing her skin at her neck - and she let out a cry as she arched her back into him again. He pressed her to him firmly with the hand at her back - the other holding up his weight as he straddled her, pinning her to the chaise lounge.

Gradually the pain was replaced by a… throb. A throbbing tempo that seemed to block out every other sensation. The throb became an ache. The ache, a hunger. She felt his desire, his pleasure, felt her own in turn. Her head rolled back, her eyes shut, and she surrendered to the feeling that rushed through her - both sides, all at once.

* * *

They were aboard a C5, 'A' class D.O.D. aircraft. A 'flying WalMart' is how Eric described it. Nothing moved a lot of cargo quite like a C5. It was gigantic, and not designed for comfort. They had been flown into Afghanistan to try and recover some artifacts that insurgents had 'stolen.' Now they sat on opposite rows, the recovered artifacts inside crates that were strapped in between.

Isabel wasn't quite sure who was stealing from whom, but hey, the price had been right.

The flight was long, tiresome, bumpy, and had little to no air conditioning. Adam and Eric sat on one side of the plane, Tex and Isabel on the other. They were on the return flight home - and despite having been successful, the mood was a tired, beleaguered (and sunburned) discontentment.

"Sing us a song, Izzy," Tex had requested, breaking the silence. He was slathering aloe vera onto his arm. Despite having an incredibly high pain tolerance for wounds, 'constant' pain like a rash or (in this case) sunburn, would send him into fits of whining that were legendary. Gunshot? No problem. Poison ivy? He was insufferable.

"Seriously?" she looked at him, and snorted. "You wanna add insult to injury?"

"Keeps my mind off this bullshit," the southerner had muttered as he rolled his other sleeve up. "How'd you not get burnt to fuck?"

"Sleeves. Hoodie. Gloves. I just, y'know, nearly dehydrated. Twice."

"Eric got to stay in the tent," Tex complained.

"Try being smart next time you get reincarnated and re-roll," Eric chimed from the other side. "Us nerds get to stay in the A.C."

Tex sighed, grumbled, and looked at her from under the brim of his baseball cap. "C'mon, Izzy. Entertain a suffering man."

"You're such a pansy," she snickered at him, and grumbling, gave in with a half-smile. "Fine. Far be it from me to deny the wishes of a dying man." She unclipped from her harness, and climbed up onto the seat to grab a bag from the overhead rack. She pulled it down, and put it down on the ground in front of where she had been sitting.

"Fuck, if I were dying, I'd have something _else_ in mind entirely," Tex said with a guffaw.

"Perv," Isabel replied and unzipped the bag. It was a guitar.

They always had a weird, half-flirting, half-sarcasm relationship. If Isabel had paid any attention to such things, she'd have admitted to herself that he was more than half-flirting. But it would never go anywhere. It couldn't. He couldn't touch her.

She sat back down in the seat, and put the guitar in her lap, and began plucking a string and twisting a knob, tuning it by ear.

Now, Isabel hadn't ever learned to play guitar. Not a single lesson in her life. And yet, she played quite well. Reason being was that some skills were simply the memory of having learned them. And if she could see people's memories by touching them… she had those years of practice embedded into her mind.

Isabel's gift went a lot deeper than the single visions she would see when she touched something. Sometimes, she would absorb much more from the things (or people) she laid a hand on - and those memories would stay ingrained in her mind sometimes for _years_ before she even had any idea they were there.

The first time it had happened was when she decided to make crepes for breakfast. She had no _fucking clue_ how to cook a crepe. And yet, one morning the idea sprung into her mind to try, and sure enough she could do it. It wasn't until she sat down to think about it, that she remembered that one chef who had bumped into her in a restaurant where a hoodie was far below dress code.

And the guitar? The result of a local guide in Spain who had brought them through an old temple. She slipped, nearly fell, and he had caught her wrist. And he had played the instrument for nearly a decade.

So now… she could play. Because she had that man's memories of learning. So there she sat on the C5, tuning up the strings to the guitar. Tex had finished slathering himself in aloe, and was now sitting with his hands tucked behind his head, feet up on one of the crate of antiquities in front of them.

Isabel surprised them both when she turned half-sideways to lean against the seat near him, and began strumming a few chords. Now, singing was a skill that was honed and built - like a gymnast. Just because she could remember _how_ to sing doesn't mean she _could._ But she had good pitch, if lousy range, and could sing out a tune better than some.

Isabel paused as she remembered she was in a lucid dream of a memory. The song she had sung in this moment had been different - had been some suggestive song about a hotel and a one night stand that got all three of the boys laughing and joining in. But part of her remembered that this… this was a recollection of a moment of time. It was only a dream of a memory. And this - half-leaning against Tex's side… was her only chance to say goodbye to her friend. Even if it was only her memory of him in her own mind - or what was left of him, living inside a vampire.

Her fingers found different chords than the ones she had done originally. " _Where have you gone, my love - my friend? Somewhere without the rain? I feel afraid now. I feel alone. Will we meet again? Can you recall, what we once knew - somewhere without the pain? I feel afraid now - but not alone. We will meet again. I can't hear your voice… but you know I feel your soul."_

Tears stung her eyes, and she let them fall. Isabel ached, missing her friend - knowing he was gone. Isabel knew that in reality, the song had gone on - she had sung another. Adam had fallen asleep, Eric was smiling but typing away on his laptop - and Tex had sat there, eyes shut, feet propped as she worked her way from one song to another.

But in the dream, everything melted away.

 _He wanted you._

She snapped back into another memory - but this one wasn't hers. She was standing in the blazing sun of the encampment, and recognized the army troops wandering from tent to tent. This had been a day before the memory that had just played out in front of her. But this one wasn't from her point of view. It was from Tex's.

Tex stood, leaning up against a stack of munition crates, using a knife to pick his fingernails. It was a disgusting habit, he knew, but he didn't care. It was effective. _And_ it made him look like a badass.

Tex had looked up as Eric approached, and she watched as he and Eric discussed the final day in the camp. "I'll be glad to pull the sand out of my ass," Tex had muttered.

"I'll be glad for you to pull the sand out of your ass," Eric quipped back. "You're a dick when you're sunburned."

"Yeah, well, at least I'm not a dick all the time." Tex had slapped him on the back, and Eric had yowled in pain. Even the little computer nerd had sunburn - and through his t-shirt no less.

"Ow, you asshole!" Eric had turned and slapped him hard on the arm, and Tex made a matching yowl of pain as he felt his sunburn light up in pain. The two of them had then gotten into a punches-and-sunburn-slappy fight. It was playful, but neither were pulling their hits.

Isabel had walked out of the tent, holding a plastic bottle of water. "God you two are like children."

"He started it," Eric complained.

"Oh, oh no I didn't," Tex retorted - even if Eric was right.

She remembered this moment - but watching herself from someone else's memory was a new experience for her. She didn't like it - not in the slightest. Isabel watched herself walk away from them, grumbling about 'boys,' and she had walked to a crate, taken off her hoodie, and dumped the bottle of water over her head.

Tex had been staring at her, but she hadn't noticed it in the moment. She was oblivious to it, but now… she could feel it from his point of view, as her tanktop went transparent in the liquid as she casually, unthinking, slung her hoodie back on and walked away.

Eric punched him in the arm again. "Dude."

"What?"

"Put your eyes back in your head. Before you have to tuck something else down."

"You wouldn't hit that? Man, I'd fuckin' _wreck_ that," Tex had said with a broad grin. Isabel wasn't sure how to handle feeling his attraction to her in the memory - it was… bizarre and uncomfortable.

Eric scrunched his face. "Dude, sick - she's like my sister."

"Your problem, not mine. If only her head shit didn't give me the heebie-jeebies."

The memories melted away again.

 _Couldn't you feel it?_

'It didn't matter' - she responded to the thoughts inside her head that were not hers.

 _He could not touch you._

'He didn't want to try. He knew what the cost would be.'

 _But I can._

She felt as he tried to push her into another memory. 'No. Enough. This wasn't part of our deal.' Isabel pushed back, and 'shoved' as hard as she could back against the feeling of his consciousness.

The blazing memory of the sun and the sand returned. Only this time, she was not looking at the hazy vision of rock and mountains in the distance, constantly flickering and wavering in the heat lifting from the sand. This time, she was looking at…

Okay, she had no idea what she was looking at.

Only that wherever she was, it was _very old._ Older than she had ever seen before in her mind - and touching ancient relics gave her some amazing visions. She was inside an open-air structure, assembled from monolithic rocks and carved delicately up to a soaring stone roof. Only the ancients built structures like this. The walls were plastered stone, painted with images and scenery like she had never seen before. The feeling of the sun and the heat began to fade in fast-forward as the night came and the stars blazed brighter than she had ever seen them before.

She was in a temple of some kind. The columns were painted and carved with intricate depictions of reverent figures - although she didn't recognize the gods and goddesses shown, paintings of holy figures all shared similar themes. It was almost Egyptian, but... not. Almost Assyrian, but... not. Isabel studied a great deal of history, art history, relics and artifacts... and yet, nothing looked like this. A civilization truly lost to time, maybe?

 _A civilization I buried in my wrath._

She was not in this stone temple alone. A man knelt, stripped naked before an altar, his body doubled over, his arms lashed to two posts to either side with a coarse rope. Men, dressed from the waist down in what looked like fabric skirts lined the sides, each carefully painted in gold and black with symbols and markings.

The man on his knees felt beaten, defeated - empty. His back was crisscrossed with whip marks, new and old, healed and fresh. His head was bowed, his long, curly black hair falling along his face. He was covered in blood - some his own, some not. She had half-broken images of him being tortured, flayed, strung out in the sun and left for the carrion birds. But he did not die, and his suffering was not yet complete.

Isabel walked slowly around him across the sandstone floor, trying to figure out… what she was seeing.

"The moment of my 'birth,'" the bloody man answered her unspoken question in an accent and tone that was unfamiliar - but yet, she knew who she was looking at. There was no doubt whose mind they were now inside.

A priest - that's what she assumed he was, by his dress and mannerisms - walked from a torch-lit hallway, holding a falcon by its feet. The poor animal had been lashed together at the wings so it could not escape or do much damage to its captor. Isabel watched as it frantically screeched and clawed at the priest to no avail. The priest approached the altar, where sat a large copper bowl, filled with a deep, thick red liquid. Well, it wasn't wine, she was pretty damn sure of that.

The priest shoved the creature down into the bowl - and she watched as it was submerged in blood. It struggled violently - and slowly… the motion faded.

The priest had drowned the falcon in the blood. Removing the corpse of the bird and handing it to an assistant who rushed away with the dead animal, the priest picked up the bowl of blood and approached the man lashed to the posts on his knees.

The man who had spoken. The man on his knees. The man she _knew,_ even if she did not recognize his face.

The priest crossed the floor to the man on his knees, and grabbing him by the long curly black hair, yanked his head backwards to look up at him. The man was stoic - empty and devoid of emotion. He was dead already, and he knew it. Whatever was to be done to him now, he accepted. It was his bargain.

 _His_ _deal._

The priest placed the bowl against his lips, and forced the man to drink the blood in which the falcon had been drowned. The man on his knees had to, or else he too drown in the thick liquid.

It was human blood. She felt the man's anguish as he was forced to drink the liquid or die - and knew that this man had loved who had been murdered to fill that bowl. Images of a woman, of a great love, and then her screaming in the night as she was taken away from him - flashed through her as she watched the scene unfold. Isabel felt the heart-shattering pain in the man before her, and wished she could do something. But she was a bystander in this memory of ancient times.

 _They drowned the daylight in my love and forced me to drink of both._

The bowl had emptied of its contents - either having run down his throat or down his chest. But the worst was yet to come. Oh god - the _pain._ Isabel winced, and she felt what he did - the pain that ran to her core like liquid metal. It was ripping through his veins, and he screamed.

As did she.


	8. Chapter 8

**As always, thanks so much for the reviews and the follows. Enjoy! :)**

* * *

Isabel came back to reality as he pulled his fangs from her neck, and she felt his tongue slowly run along the sensitive new wound. She jolted reflexively as she became aware of herself again. One of her hands was gripping his vest and shirt, while the other.. was tangled in his hair at the base of his neck. Isabel found herself holding onto him - clinging to him like a raft in an ocean.

There was the purring noise again. It was a deep rumble in his chest that made her shiver. His tongue ran along the wound on her neck again and that was enough for her. She let go and pulled her hand away from his neck. He let out a noise that could be mistaken for one of disappointment, and lifted his head from her neck.

"Every time I think that, perhaps, that I have control over you… you turn me about-face, and pry deeper into my mind," he half-complained into her ear.

It took her a moment to find her voice, and finally when she did, she sounded small and far away. She desperately wished everything would just _slow down_. "I didn't mean to…"

It was a half-apology for his half-complaint, and he pulled back further from her to look down at her face, and his lips were curled in a mild smile.

Isabel's hand untangled itself from his vest as he sat back, still straddling her but balancing his weight as to not crush her legs. She pushed herself up - well, she tried to push herself up once, and finally succeeded on the second try. Shakily she ran a hand through her hair, pushing it away from her face and tucking it behind her ear. Her hand touched the wound on her neck, and she winced - it was tender, and stung when her fingers grazed it.

She felt weak, kind of dizzy… not shocking, considering what had just happened. Isabel was honestly surprised she was conscious - but she had no sense of time, no idea how much blood he taken from her or how quickly he had done it.

He seemed content to kneel there, watching her - _looming_ again.

Opening her mouth to speak, she realized… she had nothing to say. No idea where to start. No clue what to ask, what to yell, what to plead. What exactly had he seen? She could understand the memories that he showed her from inside her mind, and Tex's. But the other… when she pushed them back inside _his_ mind. She simply shut her mouth again, and shook her head. Confused and overwhelmed, she had nowhere to begin.

 _There is no need to fret._

Isabel pulled in a hiss through her teeth and put her hand to her head. The voice she heard wasn't hers. It was _his._ He was still inside her mind, even though the physical link between them had been broken.

But it wasn't broken, was it?

He had her blood.

Oh no.

A crash of emotions, of thoughts and memories cascaded over her, and it was like being in grade school all over again. It was like the roar of a crowd at a football game. "Shit _\- fuck-_ " she swore as she pressed her hands over her eyes, trying to drown him out.

Images flashed through her mind faster than she could make sense of them. Every emotion on the spectrum rammed through her at once like a battering ram - hate, greed, hunger, grief, lust, love. Isabel forced herself to breathe as she felt overheated. Forced cool air into her lungs, and focused her mind on that. One breath at a time.

Let it move through you. Draw a line in the sand. Know where you stand. Know the boundaries of your mind. Don't fight it, let it pass. You can't stop the tide. Learn. Witness. Mantras she learned to protect herself at a young age. Breathe. Let it flow through you. A rock in a river.

Flashing images of a burning field in front of her. Bodies on giant, fifteen foot, sharpened posts - the smell of roasting flesh.

Isabel felt his mind close to hers, felt him _with_ her. Felt his amusement, his curious and eager watching of her as she suffered with the loudness inside her mind. Isabel could feel his mind as if it were her own, feel his sated hunger and the hunger that lay below that. No - she was _not_ him. His emotions were _his._ Not hers. She drew the line in the sand. She kept hold of her own mind. But god, it was hard. "Fuck…" she grumbled again.

She pictured herself sitting on a rock in the center of a stream, forced herself to visualize herself there as if it were real. The birds, the breeze, the babble of the water as it flowed around her. Sitting on the rock in the center of the stream, her legs in the water - and focused on the feeling of the water rushing by her legs. She was no more part of that river than she was the overwhelming rush of of _him_ that was flowing through her.

Slowly, bit by bit, she managed to finally separate his feelings from hers. They were still there, buzzing away beneath the surface. _Curiosity. Lust. Hunger. Anger. Desire. Boredom. Amusement. How he wanted to touch her hair again._ When he reached out his hand, she couldn't see him move - her hands still pressed over her face. But she could _feel_ his desire to touch her. "Don't. Please. Give me a minute. This hurts enough."

Dracula withdrew, sitting back on his heel, and Isabel knew he was fascinated by watching her turmoil.

"I don't know what you've done…" Isabel finally spoke, and lowered her hands. She looked down at her palms - _her_ palms. Not his. Hers.

"Many years ago… when I met one of your kind, I did the same. It drove him into a spiraling madness within minutes. He lept from the castle walls." It was all matter-of-fact. Cold. The man who had died did not interest Dracula in the slightest. "Do you intend to do the same?" _Are you a waste of my time?_

Isabel heard the subtext like he was still speaking, and she looked up at him, at his red eyes and cold features. "If you're asking if I'm going to go fucking nuts-" she started, her anger returning. Good. An emotion of her own. Stick to that. "I don't think so. No thanks to _you._ "

Dracula smirked and leaned into her, and for a moment she wondered if he was going to bite her again. Isabel froze and tried to retreat, but she was still sitting with her legs pinned underneath him - she had nowhere to go.

Instead, his lips found hers, and he kissed her - slowly, this time. One of his hands was gripping the arm of the chaise lounge beside her. The other found her shoulder, and slid up to cup her jaw. Isabel could taste her own blood on his lips, coppery and metallic. His kiss was insistent, inarguable, firm. It felt as though he were reclaiming some kind of territory that she had robbed from him in his mind. Isabel was in no state of mind to fight it. Too off-kilter and too overwhelmed, she couldn't resist as the vampire turned his head to the side and deepened the kiss.

When he finally broke the contact between them, she was out of breath and her pulse was thumping loudly in her ears. She knew her face must be bright red. He chuckled softly at her, and placed a kiss against her forehead as he leaned back again to watch her.

"Have you ever been kissed?" he asked.

"Once, and.. You know what happened. And it wasn't like that," she admitted the truth to him despite her embarrassment. What the point of fake dignity now? "I have a lot - and I mean _a lot_ \- of memories of being kissed - and uh. Other things. But none of them are mine." She paused. "Can you please get off of me?!" The series of statements were as jumbled as she felt.

Dracula laughed, and obeyed. He let her slide her legs out from under him and withdrew to sit on the other side of the lounge from her. Isabel slung her legs over the side to sit normally, and try and get some more distance from him. The vampire was now a foot or two away from her… but it didn't help the feeling of his presence in her mind.

"Do you know what it's like..?" she started, looking over at the fire still flickering away in the fireplace, although much lower now than it had been when she last saw it. "Most of what a person is, is what they remember. Their experiences. Their context. Having all these other people jumbled up in your head - I always have to fight to remember what's _mine_ and what isn't. Who I am, and who I'm not. And now I can feel you there and I can't tune you out. I can't-" Isabel broke off, anxious and unable to put words to what she felt.

 _Be still._

It was a command, a simple one straight to her soul, and she felt the deep _need_ to obey. To calm down. To follow his orders - to bend to his will. To submit. It was like he had touched a livewire inside her. It felt like lightning and she was the grounding rod. And god, she wanted to listen.

Fuck that.

Isabel stood up, forced the world to stay still and not teeter-totter underneath her, and took two quick steps to the table where the dagger that Adrian gave her still lay. She went to pick it up, with every intention of slitting her own throat. Or stabbing it into her gut.

Her fingers had barely touched the hilt before she found her back against the wall. He had grabbed her and half-thrown her against the hard surface, his hands now digging painfully into her shoulders as he pinned her there. She winced as the pain of the impact caught up with the speed of the blow. But her mind was too fuzzy - from the blood loss, the trip down 'memory lane,' the wine, whatever - to really worry about getting smacked into the wall.

"You would be so foolish?!" Dracula snarled down at her.

Isabel couldn't help it. Everything was just too much. _He_ was just too much. So she did whatever she did in moments where things got so out of control, that there was nothing to be done. She started laughing. It was actually funny, when you thought about how fucked up it all was - how ridiculous.

Dracula narrowed his eyes at her, and she knew that he was pondering whether or not she had actually lost her mind. "I'm not crazy," she said as she stopped laughing. She pushed him back from her, and he let her set him back a step. Isabel stayed leaning up against the wall, though - needing it to stay standing, to be honest.

"I fail to see the humor."

"Let me take you through it, then. First off, you killed my friend. But fine, you're a vampire, and you were starving. I'm upset, but you're a wolf eating a sheep. I'll forgive that and won't count it." Isabel felt a rant coming on. "So - one:" she held up a finger. "You take the other two hostage." Another finger. "Two: You destroy half of Boston and kill hundreds, if not thousands of people. Three: You send your goons to hunt me down. Four: I find out I'm trapped in some hamster ball mind-fuck of a semi-sentient castle. Five: Clearly you don't want to just kill me, or screw with me, you want to do _both._ " She was on two hands, now. "Six, you want me to sell off my soul to you to save my friends. Seven, I find out that you're not just Dracula, you're some several _thousands_ of years old, making me somehow more screwed than I was before." She was half-shouting now, finding great relief in her anger. "Eight - you drank my blood and now you won't get out of my head. And now, nine - I can't even kill myself."

Isabel and Dracula stood in silence, staring at each other, her fuming, and him with a single eyebrow arched as he looked down at her. "I still fail to see the humor."

"I'm laughing because I've lost… in such a spectacular fashion, it's fucking _hysterical._ "

His lips turned in a cruel smile that made her blood run cold. "You have not even begun to understand what I will do to you. You upheld your end of the bargain. Perhaps it is now time I took you to see your _friends._ "

The viciousness in his voice scared her - and she felt the cruelty and the _joy_ of causing pain echoed in her mind as his will still remained so close to her own. Suddenly, she wasn't sure she wanted to know what he was about to reveal to her. Maybe she was happier ignorant of whatever he had done. But she didn't have time to argue.

His hand snapped around her wrist, and she felt herself yanked forward. Her stomach had the 'sudden falling feeling' - and she let out a scream as the world suddenly melted away around her as they room disappeared in a jet of fire that rushed around them.

When they reappeared, Isabel staggered and fell to her knees from the momentum. He had… transported them somehow - using some weird swirl of fire that had appeared around them from nothingness. Her mind was reeling along with her stomach.

"Izzy?"

Hope flooded her for a brief second as she heard a familiar voice. She looked up from where she had fallen, and… he hope fled her as quickly as it had come. What remained was an empty horror instead.

"Oh god… Eric…"

She stood up, slowly pushing herself up from her bruised knees, and looked at what was before her, that was once her friend.

It seemed that the castle had adapted to new technology. The room they were in was gigantic - cavernous - and filled with room-sized ticking gears, wires, lights and screens. There was a resounding click of giant machinery that made a tell-tale if slow and protracted tick-tock noise. The ceiling was so high she couldn't see it through the darkness. A clock tower. But one updated for the modern era.

A giant trunk of wires, cables, and flashing fiber optics ran down from somewhere above them in the darkness and to what looked like some kind of… patch station. Criss-crossing pieces of machinery buzzed and flickered away like some kind of nightmare from a bad sci-fi flick.

Eric was sitting on some kind of ledge attached to the machinery - and it was like the metal, equipment and wires had come forward like slow moving lava and… was consuming him. Like a tree consuming a fence over decades - or vines overgrowing a building. The inorganic structures of the chips, hardware and wires had become intricately grown over his skin until it had swallowed his arms, his legs - leaving his torso and his head exposed.

Wires ran from the system _into_ his skin, running visibly close under the surface, leaving bumps and traces as it ran to… god knows where. His organs? His brain? Both?

Tubing ran into his neck and his chest like an IV - and the tubing twitched as a viscous, thick black liquid that resembled motor oil was pumped in and out of his body. His skin was no longer a normal hue but blueish-white, like a corpse. His lips were stained black like the liquid pumping in and out of him. The tubing twitched with a beat - not of his heart - but of the tick-tock of the machinery around him.

"It's so good to see you," he said with a bright smile on black lips, madness flickering in his eyes. "The Master didn't tell me you were here, but he didn't need to… The castle knew, and so did I."

Her hands covered her mouth as she tried not to burst into tears. She took a step towards him, and tried to reach out to help him, but stopped. What was she going to do? Yank the cables out of him? Pull him from the machine? He'd die in the process. And… Dracula had taken her gloves.

The cruelty of that action was now made clear to her. He stripped her of the only thing she had that let her interact with the world around her _at all_. She couldn't touch her friend. Couldn't open a goddamn door without it's memories flooding her mind. He had fully isolated her.

"Ooh, Izzy - why're you sad? Hey, hey- don't be sad. Look at me! Isn't this amazing? I wanted this. I asked for this."

"You're- you don't know what you're saying," she wanted so badly to reach out to touch him. Wanted to shake him and break Dracula's spell.

"I do though! I do. I've seen it all, now. I could have been anything - become anything. He gave me that choice. And this is what I picked. I've seen the truth of what this place is… what _he_ is. Do you know how fuckin' _old_ he is?"

"Yeah…"

"Then you know why, when he gave me the choice to become part of this place… to help bring it to the 21st century, I hadda say yes. I hadda do my part. We're gunna have wifi baby!" Eric was still smiling. "It doesn't hurt at all."

"Eric, you're not okay. You're not yourself, I promise you. Please, please snap out of it-" she begged, and felt tears roll down her cheeks.

"Izzy, please don't cry… I'm okay, I really am. I won't ever die, now. I won't ever be alone. I won't ever be afraid like I was the night we found the Master. The night he killed Tex, and when I thought he had killed you, too. I can become a part of this place, and be eternal. Like him. I'd uh, hug you, but we couldn't anyway, you don't have your hoodie and hey, I don't really have arms right now," Eric snickered. "I'll get them back soon, once it's done fixing me."

Isabel whirled to face Dracula, who was looking at her with an empty expression. She knew he felt no remorse, no pleasure, no guilt or joy from the scene that played out before him. Her pain was nothing to him - and Eric was nothing new. He had seen countless men enter these walls and decide to join it, lest they be consumed.

"Let him go."

"He wants to be here," Dracula replied, with a dismissive shrug. "I suggested he remain as a servant, but this was _his_ idea."

"You're lying!" she yelled, angrily.

"I do no such thing," Dracula responded as passively as he had before. "And you know quite I speak the truth."

"God _damn_ you," she hissed, and stepped forward, and slammed her fist into his chest. He sighed, as if dealing with a petulant child, and caught her wrist in his hand.

"He already has."

"I'm okay. It's okay. Really it is," Eric chimed from behind her. She turned to face him, even with the hand like cool steel clamped around her wrist. "You have no idea how much I _know_ now. How much I've learned. How much I'm teaching it. This is amazing."

"I'll fix this," she promised her friend. "I don't know how. But I'll fix this."

Eric only smiled sadly at her in response. "I don't think you'll get the chance. But I'll see you soon Izzy-girl. The Master's got plans for you."

"We have one more to see, do we not?" Dracula asked her, the cruelty returning to his voice. Looking up at him, she could feel the sick joy he allowed himself with this game he played with her. "Let us visit the other one."

"No, p-"

Isabel never got the chance to finish as the world around them exploded into flames again. Her stomach lurched badly as they reappeared, and she would have been sick if there was anything in her stomach to give up.

This time, at least, she managed to stay on her feet - mostly because Dracula still had her wrist clamped in his hand.

This time, they weren't in some giant, cavernous tower - they were in what looked like some Louis the XVI era parlor. It was large, far larger than it had any business being. The decor was cast in stark reds, blacks, and golds. Lavish furniture dotted the room, with fur blankets and velvet contrasting the glittering gold inlay and leafing work on the intricate furniture. It was a kind of excess of style that she didn't really care for, even if she did have to admit it was impressive.

"My lord," Isabel heard a female voice say from nearby. "Ooh my… Is this your new pet?"

Turning to face the voice, her eyes went wide. Never had a single person ever screamed 'I'm evil' quite like the woman who approached. She was drop-dead gorgeous, and by the looks of things, she knew it. Dressed in an outfit that would make Elvira blush, the woman was coyly smiling at them with crimson lips.

Isabel had a sudden reminder of how awful she must look - in her casual clothes and her lack of makeup and the fact that she had just been crying. She tried to back away from the woman, to move to stand behind Dracula - but he was having none of it.

Dracula pulled her wrist forward, and forced her in front of him. Her shyness and her shame was clear to him, and he found it deeply amusing to watch her squirm. "Carmilla," he said in a simple greeting to the lady vampire.

Carmilla walked up to her, looking very much like a snake debating on what angle would be best to start eating its prey. Her red eyes flicked to the wound on her neck, and Isabel resisted the urge to cover it. The embarrassment must have been clear on her face, as the lady vampire let out a quiet laugh. "Oh, how much I would love to taste you," the vampiress purred. "But our lord has been very clear that you are _not_ to be touched. And he says he means it quite literally."

"Yeah, don't touch me. I don't want to go fishing around in your head," Isabel muttered.

"Well, it seems since there is no fun to be had with you-" The woman turned to walk away from them, and smiled over her shoulder at them as she walked. "So I suppose I will have to console myself with your friend."

Dracula began to walk after Carmilla, and she could feel from him all of their history together. The stupid link between them was just as strong as before, and his emotions regarding the female vampire were pulled to the surface. The lust, the betrayal - she had tried to kill him _many_ times. But he put up with it - partially as his servants attempting to kill him was nothing out of the ordinary, and partially out of some strange amusement.

"I think I figured it out," she said quietly to the vampire.

"Oh?" Dracula asked.

"You only do anything if it entertains you. And you'll do some pretty extreme shit to amuse yourself."

Dracula paused for a long time, and she watched as his brow furrowed slightly. Perhaps their link was more troublesome to him than he had expected. "Eternity is dull."

Isabel wanted to pry into that a little further - but it would have to wait. Walking into another room, the figure of a man lay prone on a large circular coffee table in front of them - shirt pulled open, eyes shut, neck and chest stained red with fresh blood. The man seemed alive, for now. Another figure was on his knees on the floor by the first, head bent to the man's neck - feeding.

For a moment, she was sure the man on the table was Adam. But… she didn't recognize the face. That meant that the figure feeding… Isabel couldn't decide if that made the situation better, or worse.

"Adam, darling," Carmilla cooed as she walked up to the feeding vampire with his back to them. "You have guests."

Adam stood - and the vampiress took his face in her hands, and kissed him - making a show of it. Carmilla sat down in a chair next to the dying man on the coffee table with a sadistic and inarguably sexual smile.

Isabel prayed for a hard long minute that it wasn't actually Adam. That it was a trick. But as he friend turned around, she felt her heart crack in two for the second time in a half an hour. His eyes were now a sharp, crisp green.

Adam smiled a hopeful, bright smile and stepped forward towards her before really realizing who she was with. His eyes went up to the taller vampire, and he lowered his head quickly. "Forgive me, my lord. May I speak to my friend?"

"You may." Dracula put his hand on her back and pushed her forward. Isabel stared at the center of Adam's chest, not wanting to look up into his new eyes.

"Hey," Adam said quietly to her, and reached out to hug her - and pulled up short. Sighing, he lowered his arms. "Sorry."

Isabel shrugged, trying to play off how much not having sleeves - or her gloves - bothered her. She rubbed a hand up and down her arm, wishing she could hide. She tried to hide how much it hurt to be denied touching her friends, but knew that the street that Dracula had opened by feeding from her - this connection of theirs - likely ran both ways. Looking up at the sharp eyes of her friend, she fought down tears again.

"Are you okay?" Adam asked, his voice still low.

Isabel laughed quietly, and shook her head. "Of course I'm not okay- and neither are you. And neither is - is Eric," she stammered, trying not to let the horror of what had been done to her friend come back to her mind. "I came here to save you two - I threw myself into this place to try and rescue you two and I find out that you're a fucking vampire now, and he's- he's-"

"Happy." Adam finished for her.

"Not the word I was going to use," she retorted. "Have you seen him?! He's-"

"You were supposed to run," Adam sighed. "You were supposed to leave us here."

Isabel wanted to shake him - or punch him - or both. "You know I couldn't just leave you two here. You know I couldn't just abandon you."

"So you came here instead? To what, fight _him?_ To fight this place? You didn't stand a chance, Iz," Adam insisted.

"I know that!" she forced herself to take a breath and calm down. It wasn't his fault. "I know that. I thought - I don't know what I thought. That if he was willing to cut a deal before, maybe he'd cut one now. I was wrong."

"Oh this is just _delightful!_ " Carmilla interjected from where she sat. "My lord, I know now why you delight in such mortal… drama. It is quite fun to watch."

"You shut the _fuck up_ and keep out of this," Isabel snapped at the other woman. Her patience was gone and she wasn't going to deal with another person making fun of her. Dracula was bad enough. "Maybe instead of opening your fat mouth, you should go back to sucking cock at the Silver Mare for a single heller back in Austria like you used to."

Isabel wasn't sure where she wound up with that little factoid about Carmilla's life - but she had already fired off that gun, and she was going to stick to it.

Carmilla's was in shock - agog - and staring at her wide eyed, her mouth open.

Dracula laughed and she felt his hand fall on her shoulder - pointedly showing Carmilla that she was still under his protection, insults or no. "Yes, Carmilla, I must agree. This is delightful."

Isabel shoved his hand off of her and turned, taking a few steps away from the three of them. She couldn't look at them - this was too much. She put her hands over her face, and sighed. Everything was just a deluge. "What did I ever do to you?" she quietly asked Dracula, not expecting a reply.

And then, all at once, a lightbulb went off in her head.

She wasn't sure if the thought hit her on her own accord, or if it was due to the lingering connection to Dracula. But pieces in her head that hadn't made sense suddenly fell into place. She lowered her hands, and looked aimlessly out the window at the night sky. "So, that's how you found me."

Silence. Which meant she was on to something. So, she continued, not turning back around. "The vampire Maverick said you told a bunch of your people a couple of places where I might turn up. The cathedral was one of them. Nobody knew about the contact we had there - nobody knew about the priest who worked there who specialized in hunting monsters. Nobody… except Adam."

"I didn't have a choice - not really. I had to, I didn't think you'd ever be dumb enough to try and rescue us. I thought it was useless intel. I'm sorry-" Adam started.

Isabel wasn't even really fully aware of when exactly she had grabbed the large crystal ashtray from the table next to her - she only really knew she had it after she lobbed it and bounced it directly off of Adam's head.

Adam collapsed to the ground with a groan, holding his head where the ashtray had hit him. There was blood, but - she knew that he'd be fine, now - being a _vampire_ and all. Isabel was shaking in anger, anxiety, grief - god only knew what the jumble of emotions roaring around inside should be named.

Dracula roared in laughter.

"It's not funny," she growled at him.

"Ah, I beg to differ. In this, I see the humor," the vampire king disappeared, and Isabel let out a small cry as he reappeared behind her, a hand on the back of her neck, forcing her to walk forwards until she stood over where Adam was getting back to his feet. "He sold you for his own eternal life."

"I didn't- I mean-" Adam stammered, then gave up, his shoulders slumping. The wound on his head was already healing itself shut. "I'm sorry, Iz..."

"You would not be here, if not for his betrayal," Dracula purred into her ear, mocking her, enjoying rubbing salt into the wound.

"Here's the thing you don't get, fangface," Isabel replied. "Here's what you don't understand about people. Something you'll never grasp in your thousands of years so-called life."

"Oh? What is that, exactly?" He sounded so superior… so pleased with his game. He wanted to watch her crumble at his feet. Isabel just had to 'throw the board' back into his face.

"He's my friend," Isabel turned her head to glare into his red eyes. "I forgive him. Even if you had him kill me now. Or had Eric do it. Doesn't matter. I'd forgive them."

His red eyes narrowed at that, and he bristled at the insult. But she had found a button, and she smiled at his glowering expression, enjoying jabbing him in return for what he had done. "Hrm. We shall see." He straightened back up to his full height, and the grip on the back of her neck tightened slightly. She'd pay for her comments later, she knew. Didn't know how, but knew he was the type to hold a grudge.

"My lord, about what she said-" Carmilla interjected. "I think I am owed-"

"Her words were truth, and even if they were not, the sentiment would remain so. You are owed _nothing,_ " Dracula hissed coldly at the lady vampire, who all but recoiled into the cushions of the chair she sat on. "Entertain yourself with your new fledgling."

"Isabel-" Adam started, but couldn't finish whatever he was going to say as the world erupted in fire.

Carpet met her hands as she fell from the tornado of fire that brought them somewhere new. Isabel groaned, feeling her stomach lurch in time with her head. "Stop… doing that, please."

"Best become accustomed to it," the vampire replied as he stood over her. She ran a shaking hand through her hair and looked up from where she knelt, and saw that they had appeared in some strange chamber with solid stone walls. Torches burned in sconces in the walls, and there was no furniture other than a carpet (that she was now kneeling on) in the center of the room, and a… coffin on a dias.

There was not a single door or window in the room. Just solid stone. _This is where he sleeps -_ she realized. Cut off from everyone and everything - safe in an unreachable location.

"I have business to which I must attend. I do not trust you to be alone in the castle, so you will remain here until I return."

"Wait-" Isabel pushed herself up to standing. "You're going to leave me, here, with nothing-"

A burst of fire and she jumped back, shielding her eyes. He was gone.

* * *

It was impossible to tell the time when there was nothing to use as reference. Even the torches seemed somehow to burn forever with no renewed fuel. Stupid castle at work again, she figured.

All Isabel knew for certain was that she was _incredibly_ bored and _incredibly_ tired. The former fed the later, and she decided to try and get some sleep. As there was nothing else to do in a room with literally nothing but four torches, a carpet and a pedestal with an ornate coffin.

So started the great internal debate of the hour. Or hours, or twenty minutes, she had no clue. Sleep on the carpet - uncomfortable and kind of cold. Sleep in the coffin - creepy as shit, and it was his, and she didn't want anything to do with that. And it'd probably anger him anyway, finding her in there without any kind of permission. Sleep on the floor but steal his pillow, and he'd probably lose his temper at that, too. But what did she care if he was 'angry' at her? He had mutilated her friends and was probably just going to kill her anyway.

So, she settled on stealing his pillow. Lying on the carpet, she shoved it under her head, and stared up at the stone ceiling. It smelled like him - vaguely of roses, and she tried to push it from her mind. It was better than the bare carpet.

Isabel idly wondered if she'd eventually suffocate in a room with no doors or windows - hopefully it wasn't perfectly airtight. Then again - what did she care if it was? Hope was a funny thing. Even through everything that had happened her today, part of her wondered if there was some way they'd all get out of this alive. Sighing, she finally let the weight of the day hit her. Especially now that she was alone.

She felt tears form again as she thought back to seeing Eric and Adam - and what had happened to her two friends. The only people she could call anything close to family. What had they become? Were they too far gone? The image of Eric as part of the machine would haunt her for the rest of her (very likely few remaining) days.

And then there was what she saw inside Dracula's mind when he fed from her - when she was _bitten by a vampire._ God, she hadn't even really registered what had happened. What did Dracula really want from her? What was his plan? Even seeing inside his mind and feeling his emotions, she had no idea. Being touched for the first time in over a decade - her first _actual_ kiss that wasn't someone else's stolen memory.

Isabel felt off-balance, always trying to catch her footing as he jerked her from one emotional extreme to the other. Perhaps that was his game - but why? To 'break' her? And again, why her?

They were all prisoners of a man who was ancient enough to be considered basically a demigod. A demigod who deeply enjoyed watching her struggle and suffer through what he levied against her. What possible hope could there be?

Isabel slammed her fist into the floor, wanting the pain to help stop her from crying. It worked, and she pulled in a wavering breath. Thankfully, thoughts began to fade as sleep claimed her exhausted mind.


	9. Chapter 9

The vague smell of roses, and a soft pillow under her head. Her eyes were so tired, she didn't want to open them. And so, she didn't. She felt movement, but it was probably just part of a dream.

Isabel felt the sword go through her midsection - but the dream wasn't clear, yet. It was hard to know what was happening. Voices, then.

' _Go back whence you came! Trouble the soul of my mother no more!'_

His voice followed.

' _How? How is it that I have been so defeated?'_

Isabel had felt the sword - although it was Dracula that had been run clean through by the thin blade. They were inside of a memory. Standing inside a grand throne room, Dracula was sprawled back against the stairs, long white hair around his head - Adrian at his feet, still holding the sword that had pierced his heart.

Adrian spoke, his face as cold as ice. If he felt any emotion, it was buried so deep that even she couldn't sense it. "You have been doomed ever since you lost the ability to love."

Time froze.

"Coming from Chuckles, that's a hell of a statement," Isabel muttered to herself.

Dracula's reply was both to Adrian in the dream, and yet also to her. "Ah, sarcasm." He continued. "'For what profit is it to a man if he gains the world, and loses his own soul?' Matthew 16:26 I believe."

But the response didn't come from the memory of the vampire who lay dying on the floor. That time, the response was voiced by the man standing _next_ to her in the dream. Isabel nearly leapt out of her skin, as he snuck up on her _again_ and scared the shit out of her _again._ "Oh for _fucks sake_ stop doing that!"

Dracula only smirked down at her, and then his eyes traveled back to the scene in front of him, and his smirk faded. "I do not like witnessing my past."

"Then you should stop touching me," Isabel advised, folding her arms defiantly across her chest.

Dracula took a step away from her, walking towards the frozen tableau of his own death in front of him. He ignored her statement. "Each time I wonder if I will finally overcome you and peer into the darkness that is _your_ past, not mine."

Isabel watched him, curious at the forlorn expression on his face. Isabel could feel the beleaguered, tired sadness radiate from him. She would have accused him of mocking her again, but there was, for once, a genuine quality to him that she didn't want to chase away. "You could have just asked."

"Where would be the fun in that?"

Isabel looked at the scene in front of her again, and approached the frozen memory of Adrian slaying his father. Slaying Dracula. Slaying a creature that was for all intents and purposes a demigod who could not ever truly die. It was then, that she knew what had happened. "You let him kill you." It was a statement, not a question.

"Of course I did."

"But… why?"

Dracula was silent for a long moment. "Do not ask foolish questions."

It wasn't an answer - but Isabel wasn't quite sure she really needed one. She shared in his emotions even still, and to call the matter complex would be to put it lightly. Grief at the loss of his former wife and love - grief at the wrath of his son. A masochistic enjoyment of the drama of it all. Fruitless hope that perhaps, this time death would truly come for him. Knowing that he could never be the one to end his son's life. So this is how it must be. Loneliness and a great deal of bitterness followed quickly after.

His hands were fists at his side in silent turmoil as he was forced to remember this point in time.

Dracula mutilated her friends, and was currently holding her prisoner. She had to remind herself of that, as she looked at him and felt the wealth of pain in every variety that ate away at him.

Goddamn it all and her _stupid_ bleeding heart. This man was a monster, set out to do god-knows-what to her. He had destroyed her friends, hunted her down, and was now threatening torture, death, and suffering. But he was not a soulless, emotionless creature like his son had accused. Isabel knew she should enjoy rubbing his face in a painful memory - and yet, she felt his pain like it was her own. Isabel supposed you didn't quite get to be several millennia old without being a _seriously_ complicated headcase.

Isabel let out a long sigh, and gave up. "You're going to be really disappointed."

"Oh?" he looked at her, finally turning from the scene in front of him. The figures that were frozen in time faded like dust as his focus shifted to her and away from his memory.

"If you seriously wanted to see my past, and not, y'know, just fuck around inside my head for fun." Isabel took in a breath, held it, and let the next sentence out with a small puff of air. "There isn't one to see."

Dracula tilted his head slightly as he looked at her, silently asking for her to continue.

"I don't…" she sighed again, not sure how to explain it. "It's why nobody ever uses my last name," Isabel said with a small, sad, half-laugh. "I don't remember it."

"Show me."

It was a command, not a request, and she knew she should rebuke him for it, but instead, she met his command with more defiance. "You don't get something for nothing. What'll you pay for it?"

He grinned wickedly. Isabel had successfully distracted him from the memory - and now she wasn't glad she had. "Clever little creature - torment me with my past, then demand I pay a toll to escape?"

"Torment _you-_ " she snorted. "That's rich. You brought us here, not me."

"Hrm," he looked away thoughtfully, then his red eyes flicked back to hers as he recovered from her chess move gracefully and with far too much amusement for her comfort. "You know quite well that the freedom or well-being of your friends is a payment far above the momentary curiosity I hold for something I could uncover by _other_ means." The threat of violence, or worse, was clear. "So what, pray tell, do you wish that I would grant in exchange for your willing account?" Dracula took a step towards her, then, calling her bluff. And she reflexively took a step back.

Asshole. Just when she thought for once she might have her footing, he points out how useless it really is. But, his price of admission was worth it. "Gloves and something with sleeves."

Dracula let out a small 'hrm' thoughtfully as he looked off. "No. Gloves I will allow. I wish to deter others from laying a hand on you as much as I am able."

Isabel didn't understand _why_ the thought of someone touching her bothered him so much. There were two options: Either, she was his new favorite toy, and he would use her and abuse her she was broken and discarded. Or, that he was protective of her for any other possible reason in the world - and that just seemed stupid and unlikely in comparison.

Isabel shrugged. It was better than nothing, and he was going to find out eventually. "Deal. But I lead, not you." She reached her hand out to him with a cringe. If she was going to take him down through her memories, he was not going to be the one driving.

"Very well." He placed his cold hand inside hers, and she let the world melt away.

* * *

 _Don't touch me!_

Too much blood.

She had remembered her crying that out like in a fever dream. Over and over again.

Shattered bits and pieces before then, all jumbled and broken apart like broken glass. The more you tried to grab onto one, the harder it bit into your skin and hurt. So it was easier to just let them all go.

Voices - too many voices, drowning her out and threatening to drag her under.

 _Don't touch me!_

It was a hospital room, one for intake patients leaving the ICU. Her wing, third shift - and making the rounds. She had worked here for twenty seven years, and she was sick of this third shift bullshit.

Wait - no. That wasn't her memory, that wasn't her mind. Was it? Was she the woman in the bed - or the one lying unconscious on the floor? Definitely the one in the bed, she decided after a moment of fiddling with the sheets under her fingers. Definitely _not_ the one on the floor.

Sitting up in bed, she slowly became aware of herself - looking down at her hands. Bruises ran up her arms, angry with yellow rings and purple blotches. What the hell had happened to her? Where was she?

More importantly… _who_ was she?

She needed to get up, needed to get out of this awful room. She didn't know where she was, but she knew she didn't like it. Getting up off the bed, her knees almost gave out from under her. Staggering, she caught herself on the edge of an IV tray, and managed to walk, barefooted - around the woman on the floor. Her name was Susan, and this was her ward… memories of attending to thousands of patients flashed through her mind - the daily grind, the daily pattern. Breakfast, work, home, TV, sleep, and again and again…

No. No she wasn't. It wasn't her. That was the woman on the floor and _her_ thoughts and memories.

She made it to the bathroom, and walked up to the sink. Holding on to the edge of the porcelain fixture, she looked into the reflection.

And had no memory of the girl looking back at her. Teenager, maybe fifteen or sixteen. And she'd be pretty if it weren't for the large bruise on one side of her neck. Running her fingers along it, she winced at the pain. It was fresh.

The hospital bracelet around her wrist caught her attention, and she looked down at it, hoping for any clue of information. First name: Isabel, Last name: unknown. Well, okay - her name was Isabel. That was a start.

She put her hand to her head, and tried to remember. She had walked into this hospital - bruised, beaten - and all she had known was her first name. She had told them that - before passing out. Did she? Things were fuzzy, strange… they didn't make sense. Memories flooded her mind of other people, other thoughts, other things. Putting keys into a car. Blood on the pavement, broken glass.

But her name was Isabel. It felt familiar - it rung a bell.

Oh. Huh. Speaking of ringing a bell. 'Isabel' turned to look at the nurse unconscious on the floor. Maybe she should do something about that.

* * *

Foster homes weren't all that bad, to be honest. She wound up with a loving, if entirely overworked 'single mom.' Natalie was the name of the woman now ostensibly playing the role of 'mother,' and she always praised Isabel for being the easiest foster kid she ever had. Isabel was self reliant, responsible - knew how to drive and do most things - and never really needed much in the way of guidance or structure. Oh, of course she had her quirks - not wanting to be touched, for one.

'An old soul,' is what Natalie would say about Isabel when the older woman went to her book club or what-have-you. And Isabel didn't argue - it was accurate. Even as a teenager in high school, she never really felt like she was her age. Always felt older, more mature… and utterly disinterested in where she was.

It was that jaded, detached nature - and her utter abhorrence to being touched - that labeled her unpopular and a freak. So, it was easy to don all black and join the 'freaks.' They weren't fussy, and were happy to have another person in their ranks.

Even better, they believed her when she said she was an empath, and that's why she couldn't touch people. They enjoyed watching her read memories from objects or watch her scare the bullies who came too close to them with some dark secret of theirs.

And then, there was James…

She remembered when it happened. They were sitting in a field, late one night, watching a thunderstorm brewing in the distance. It was one of their favorite places to come hang out. It was quiet, off the beaten trail, and far away from any street lamps or anything that might ruin the view of the night sky.

He had surprised her, caught her off guard - and she knew why. He had wanted to show her that he wasn't afraid of her, wasn't afraid of the consequences of what would happen. He tapped her on the shoulder and kissed her before she could react.

When she woke up - the storm had come and passed, and the were both soaked through to the bone and freezing. And no matter how hard she shook him, no matter how hard she screamed, he wouldn't wake up.

Guilt wracked her still about what she had done to him. Unintentional or not, the kid was brain dead in a coma from what she had done. All his life, all his memories now flitted around in her mind like moths. But that was her quiet burden to bear. The small town in Massachusetts wasn't one to let that kind of drama go quietly into the night - and it forced her foster mother to pick up and move.

Isabel never told Natalie about her 'gift.' The beleaguered woman wouldn't believe her, she knew. To her credit, Natalie had believed that it was an accident - although she was always suspicious it had been drugs like the others had thought.

The moment Isabel was old enough to leave, she did. Hugged Natalie as tight as she could, with a hoodie that made sure their skin never touched. Said her goodbyes, and took her car, took what money she had earned from work, and hit the road. Isabel traveled from town to town, doing what she could to earn (or con) money. She became a talented fortune teller - using what she could read from the people across from her to tell them what they wanted to know. It was an easy pattern to fall into.

It was in New York city a year later that she had finally settled in, having a fantastically high-paying gig as a high-end fortune teller to expensive clients. Isabel worked out of a little shop in the east end with two other girls and one guy. Sally, Rachel and Dom. They weren't empaths like she was, but they were _amazing_ at manipulating their clients. Telling them what they needed to hear and giving them the advice that they would only listen to if it came from a 'mystical' source.

'Most people,' Dom had said while flicking his ever-present cigarette, 'already know what they've got to do. They just don't want to. So it's our job to rub their stupid little faces in it.'

Dom was the kind of guy who wore skinny jeans before they were 'cool,' and of course, was gay as the day was long. Sally and Rachel were twins, and each as gifted as the other in knowing how to play a client. The whole 'twins' thing kept an air of mystery around them that was very appealing to businessmen or foreign diplomats. But if it was a hard client to crack - they came to Isabel. If they needed to know the truth behind the jewelry left to them by an aunt, or a key that they didn't know where the lock was - they came to her.

Isabel was stretched out reading a book on the sofa in the small central room when the bell above the door dinged. The small lobby was decorated like any good high-end fortune-telling parlor should be. The smell of incense was heavy in the air, and the brass statues of every exotic god of antiquity dotted the shelves. Symbols of the third eye, chakras, and whatever other else looked interesting or appropriate.

Looking up, Isabel smiled. "You must be my 2 o'clock - Kenneth?" Life changes quickly sometimes and without warning.

"Yes ma'am," a man with a thick southern accent and a cowboy hat responded. He had taken it off his head when he walked in like a gentleman. "And please, call me Tex." He screamed 'ex military,' and his mannerisms showed that he was used to a regimented life. His dark hair was cropped short, and his face was quick to smile. Isabel instantly liked him.

She also instantly appreciated the fact that he hadn't jumped in with 'shouldn't you know I'm your client? You're the psychic.' She hated those jokes, but, they came with the gig.

Standing up, she put her book on the table and lead him back to her private room in the back. It was small, but was fine for what she needed. The shop they rented had once been a tattoo parlor, so they had plenty of these little 'breakout' rooms.

Guarded, curious, amused. That's what she got from him instantly as he walked in. "Have a seat," she offered and walked to a fridge. "Would you like anything to drink?"

"A beer would be grand," the southerner responded with a small laugh. "I've never done this b'fore, and it'll help take the edge off."

Isabel shot him a smirk and pulled a beer out of the mini-fridge in the corner. Popping the cap off, she handed it to him. Her ever-present gloves protected them both from any accidents. "Something tells me you're the kind of guy who needs more than one beer to take the edge off."

"Hah - guilty as charged. I guess you _are_ a psychic, huh?"

Isabel shook her head. "I don't need to be one to figure that out. I can tell a lot from just looking at you."

"Like what?" he asked, honestly curious.

Isabel had leaned against the closed mini-fridge, and watched him for a moment. "Ex-military. I can tell by the haircut and the build. The way you look around to see where the nearest exits are. So, I would say… marine. Special ops, maybe. Now you're for hire. You pride yourself on being from the south - obvious from the nickname. But that nickname only works around northerners - so… You like to stand out in a crowd. You like to be noticed."

"Guilty as charged," he said with a chuckle. "All that without using your super-special psychic powers?"

"I'm not a psychic," Isabel admitted with a sigh. "I don't tell the future. I can tell you what is. What was. Memories and emotions are what I specialize in. The website should've told you that much."

"That it did. That it did," he said, his southern drawl was kind of adorable, she decided. Not that she would ever tell him that. 'A decent ego' was also on her list of things she would say described her new client.

"So what can I do for you today, Tex?" God, she hoped he didn't say 'sex.' That was always so freaking awkward when clients mistook them for a whorehouse.

"Whelp," he reached into a bag he had carried at his side. "I want you to see if you can tell me anything about this…" He pulled from it what looked like a section of some old, carved statue. One that had been blown to bits, or fallen apart with time. A shoulder maybe? Part of a leg? It was hard to tell. He put it down on the table in the center of the room.

Isabel sat down at the table and looked at the carved rock curiously. It was impossible to know what it had once belonged to - or what era the statue had been from. Well, impossible, unless you could see the past. She took off her gloves, and put her hands against the stone.

It had been eight years since that day. Eight years since Tex had followed a tip that Adam had received on the web to find her and see if she was 'legit.' Eight years of working as a mercenary treasure hunter before Tex had died at Dracula's hands. Eight years that she knew were gone, now. Never to return.

 _You know nothing of who you are._

The voice echoed in her soul and the memories ended, fading to nothingness.

' _I don't need to know my past to know who I am,'_ she replied.

* * *

Isabel woke up from her dream, and found herself lying on her side in pitch black darkness. The vague smell of roses and the pillow under her head gave her a strong hint of where she was. Reaching out in front of her - and sure enough, the fabric covered side of his coffin hovered a few inches in front of her face.

And again, she was not alone. A heavy arm was draped around her, and she felt him pressed against her back. He was holding her like a lover, and she didn't… God help her, she didn't know what to do. She was so confused and it made her want to scream and hit him. He tormented her, and threatened her, and now he does this? What did he want from her?!

 _Everything_.

She flinched, hearing his voice in her head - clearly the connection hadn't faded yet. The hand that was draped over her slid up to her face - and he brushed her hair back, his nails running lightly against her skin.

She felt him kiss the back of her head. "Imagine my surprise and amusement," he murmured to her. "When I found you asleep on the floor like some beast." So she had felt him lift her up after all.

Isabel shivered despite herself as he tucked her hair behind her ear. "My options were limited," she replied, a whisper in the closeness of the coffin.

A chuckle was her answer as a single nail trailed down around her ear, and down her throat, touching the spot on her neck where he had bitten her. It was still sensitive, and she jolted reflexively. One of her hands pressed against the side of the coffin, needing something to hold on to as her nerves lit up under his touch.

Again he chuckled deep in his throat as she felt him shift, and felt his lips take the place of his hand. She let out a small noise, as he ran his tongue slowly along the marks he had left on her skin. She felt his hand slide under her shoulder and pull her half onto her back, twisting her to face him. He began to trail slow, lazy kisses up her neck. _I will have all of you before you are free of me,_ he whispered into her mind as his lips found hers.

Another small cry left her as his sharp nails now found her side, slipping under her shirt and digging in just enough to hurt as he pulled her lower back against him. His kiss became suddenly more passionate, hungrier, as he tilted his head to the side and she felt his tongue delve past her lips.

 _No man dared touch you._

Another shiver ran through her body at his words. Her mind was wrapped up in his, and it was intoxicating. From feeding from her - from touching her - it was all the same. She felt him close to her in more ways than one. Felt his overwhelming presence around her.

A moan escaped her without her permission, and her hands were now holding on to the fabric of his shirt collar. He had now shifted to lay half over her, pressing her onto her back even as he held her against him. One of his legs was between hers, and she felt the length of his body against her own and it sent her mind reeling.

 _This isn't fair,_ she tried to rail against him. Tried to push him away, even as she felt her body trembling from his attentions. _I've never…_

 _I know_ , was his silent reply. The hand on her side slid around to her stomach, sharp nails tracing the skin underneath her shirt. She jolted as he did, the feeling of his nails making her writhe against her will. He slid his hand out from under her shirt, and ran his hand slowly up her body. She made a 'mnhf-' noise of protest against his lips as his hand trailed up over the swell of her breast. He didn't linger there, instead grasping the strap of her tank top and bra, and slid it slowly down her shoulder. Nails traced along her collarbone, now no longer inhibited by the fabric in the way. His touch was sharp against her skin which felt impossibly hot against his cool touch.

He broke the kiss, leaving her head spinning and out of breath as he returned his lips to her ear. She felt his teeth graze her earlobe, and her mind went blank. "Tell me to stop," he whispered low into her ear, daring her. _And I will,_ he finished silently.

Isabel felt like she was on fire as he ran his tongue back down her neck to where he had fed from her. His nails still slowly tracing her collarbone, sending shivers down her spine. She heard that low, deep _purr_ from his throat as he let his teeth graze her neck.

She felt dizzy - almost felt drunk from what she felt ripping through her. "Wait," she said quietly, her voice wavering.

 _That was not 'stop,'_ he coyly said into her mind as she felt his teeth pierce her neck. She cried out sharply, her back arching against his chest as pain and something else entirely ripped through her body, her mind going white-hot.

This time, no dream encompassed them. No memory blotted out reality. Instead, they remained present as he slowly fed from her. _I am learning, my little dove_ , she heard echoing in her mind. She could feel the thumping tempo of their hearts as he pulled the vital liquid from her, felt the pleasure flood his body as her hot blood touched his tongue.

She felt him pull his teeth from her neck. Isabel heard herself moan as he did, and felt him run his tongue along the reopened wound as it oozed slowly blood. He had barely taken any from her - but that wasn't the point, was it? She heard his purring rumble in his chest as he pressed against her. _It was pleasure you felt. Pleasure like mine._

"No," she weakly denied it, and she heard him laugh quietly against her skin.

 _Oh?_ His fangs dug into her skin again, delving into the same wound as before, and she let out another cry as he did, squeezing her eyes shut tight as she arched against him once more. This time, his hand that had been lazily touching her collarbone was now at her lower back again, fingers splayed out and sharpened nails digging into her as he pressed her hard against him - not letting her fall back.

Dracula kept her pressed against him, her chest heaving for air as he slowly pulled his fangs from her neck. She let out a low moan as he did, and he laughed again, rumbling deep in his chest as he let his tongue lazily run along the wound.

She was trembling against him, and she felt helpless. Her body burned _,_ and it made the feel of his cool skin on hers even more intense.

 _Admit it,_ he urged silently. His lips left her throat and returned to hers, and again she tasted her blood on his lips, coppery and bitter. The kiss was as intense as before, possessive, passionate and inarguable. _Admit what you want, and you shall have it._

She had never felt this way before - not in her life. No one had ever touched her like this - no one had ever _dared_. All she ever had was memories of other people's experiences - and they were a poor substitute. Being in it now, her body and her mind warred against each other, each having their own opinion of what he was doing to her. Her mind was used to winning these fights.

Isabel pressed her hands against his chest and tried to weakly push him away from her.

 _No? Very well._ The creak of the lid opening, and cool air met her as he climbed out of the coffin before she could even wrap her mind around what had happened. He didn't sound disappointed - in fact, there was a mischievous twinge to his voice that made her realize that was his ploy all along.

The feeling of cold air against her was a wonderful break from the sudden heat of the coffin - even if he had nothing to do with the air temperature. But it made her feel suddenly very alone, and she almost - _almost -_ regretted pushing him away.

She didn't have much time to debate the merits of her decision. "Get up," he commanded. His voice was cold, detached, as if nothing had just happened.

Isabel blinked, confused, looking up at where he stood over the coffin. "Get up," he repeated. "Or else you may not have enough time to get dressed."

"Wh-huh?" she stammered uselessly. She pushed herself up to sitting, and winced, grabbing her neck with one hand. The wound stung, and when she pulled her hand away, there was blood on her fingers.

His hand took hers, and before she could react, he had brought her fingers to his lips, and a small noise escaped her throat as he took one of his fingers into his mouth, slowly cleaning the blood from her skin. His red eyes met hers, and they smoldered with a dangerous expression that made her body run both hot and cold at the same time. "Get up, or I will change my mind about giving you an _option._ "

He released her hand, and she, after a long confused pause, managed to climb out of the coffin. She kept a grip on it for a moment until she was sure her legs were going to stay put under her, and not change their minds due to the blood loss. But he hadn't taken that much from her, apparently.

Isabel yelped as he grabbed her shoulder and the world erupted into flame as he brought them to somewhere else in the castle. This time, she was a little more prepared for the ensuing feeling, and she didn't feel _as_ sick when they reappeared on the other side.

It looked like a lavish hotel suite - a large center room, and a bedroom visible off to one side through a door, and a bathroom through another. It was decorated in rich purples, blacks, and silvers. Dracula let go of her shoulder, and when she looked at him - he looked as passive and cold as a greek statue.

"We are to attend a banquet in two hour's time. You are to make yourself presentable. Refusal is inadvisable. Someone will be along to fetch you." And with that - and another roaring column of fire that made her leap backwards with a squeak - he was gone.

Isabel walked to a third door in the room - and tried the handle - and it didn't budge. Damn it all. Looking closer at it she couldn't see any visible lock. No way for her to pick it to try and escape. The windows were similarly inoperable - and judging by the height of the view, not a viable idea anyway. With a sigh, she walked away from the window with a shake of her head.

Isabel slumped into a chair, and put her head in her hands - taking a moment to try and collect her wits. No matter what she thought, no matter what she figured out about the vampire, he kept her off balance and always at a loss.

Being around him was like being drunk - alluring, and easy to give up all rational thought and just do whatever felt good. And god damn, she had been close to giving in to him. And why not? Dignity? He was going to kill her, he said as much. But sleeping with the man who had promised to maim and murder her was wrong - no matter what way you looked at it. Isabel leaned back in the chair and shut her eyes. There was no telling he would have followed through anyway - he was likely just playing another game with her, toying with her - using his ability to touch her to her disadvantage.

'Refusal is inadvisable' he had warned about this banquet. Make yourself presentable, or else. Well, at least there was a shower involved. Letting out another sigh, she stood up and walked towards the bathroom.

* * *

Isabel had gone through the wardrobe in the room three times. And _nothing had sleeves._ Asshole made good on his threat. She did find a single pair of black gloves that reached halfway to her elbow, so she'd have to put up with that.

As for the clothing - she wasn't dumb enough to think that going in jeans and a tank top was acceptable. Deciding that it wasn't a fight worth picking, she laid out the three options she saw as remotely viable. Each one was a little ridiculous, but, hey, she was _here,_ and this was _Dracula._

Each dress had something in common - the coloration. Crimson with black lace overlay, cut in different styles. Each either with no sleeves at all, or none that would do her any good. It didn't miss her that the dresses were all in _his_ choice of colors. Like it somehow labeled her as his goddamn property.

Isabel gritted her teeth, and sighed deeply, rubbing a hand along her forehead. She reminded herself that this, again, was not a fight worth picking. There was nothing to be done about this battle. At least she was being given clothing, and wasn't expected to attend naked, or laid out on the table like she had been in her nightmare.

She finally settled on a strapless corset-style dress, as it somehow managed to be the most practical of the bunch. It was at least something that was going to stay put on its own should she have the chance to make a break for it. The skirt was mid-thigh, and she picked a pair of lace tights and ankle boots with a modest heel. Not the best looking option, but the best to run in if she had to.

Isabel had debated the merits of makeup. She had been given an impressive supply of choices - but she had a troubling choice about whether or not to wear it. It was pointless. Empty. Made it look like she was _okay_ with what was happening to her. But if she didn't - she remembered Carmilla and how gorgeous she was - and Isabel's poor self opinion rose to the surface.

 _This will likely be the last time in your life you get to dress up,_ she reminded herself. _And besides, it's just like your highschool days of being a goth kid._ She laughed at that, and remembered exactly how much eyeliner she used to wear.

Fine. For old time's sake, if no other reason, she put on dramatic eyeshadow and dark lipstick. She wore it well, even if she did feel silly. A black lace collar covered the bite wound on her neck, and completely brought her back to her 'glory days.' Letting her short hair curl on its own, she flopped into the chair by the door, and waited.

With no clock, and no idea what time of day (or night) it was, with the sun being hidden behind the perpetual darkness that shrouded the castle, it was a lot of waiting. Waiting allowed her to dwell on what was happening to her, and how viciously angry she should be at Dracula. This stupid banquet was likely an exercise solely designed to humiliate her further - or make her watch as he did something awful to someone she cared about.

Her mind wandered through all the possible events of this so-called banquet. Maybe he'd feed her to the rest of his people. Maybe he'd make her watch as he killed Adam, or made Adam kill somebody. Maybe he'd make her pick who would live and who would die. Maybe he'd try and make her kill someone herself.

None of the options were good. The best she wound up with was, 'he shows you off like a prize pig, and generally humiliates you in front of a crowd.' That was literally the best possible outcome she could think of, and it made her bristle in anger at the thought.

A knock on the door startled her out of her thoughts. Whelp, time to rip off the bandaid. Standing up, she took a final look at herself in the mirror, and thought her high school self would have been very proud of the freak she had grown into.

Opening the door, she wasn't sure what she was expecting. A monster, a demon, a ball of slime, a gremlin, maybe a hunchback. What she saw, she didn't expect.

A _priest._

To be specific, a vampire priest. His pale blue eyes weren't the giveaway - it was the fact that he stood there, inhumanly still and pale like a marble statue. Short blond hair was well kept, and he looked as much like a statue of a saint as an actual person. He wore all black save the white collar at his throat, and his hands were folded behind his back in a simple, dignified manner.

"My lady," he said with a slight bow of his head. "I am Lyon. Lord Dracula has sent me to bring you to the banquet hall."

For some reason, she let out a snort that turned into a laugh. The vampire blinked in confusion, and she smiled. "I'm sorry, it's not - you're not funny. This is just funny. You aren't what I expected."

"I will take that as a compliment," the vampire responded with the barest smirk. "If you will follow me." He turned, and led her down a corridor. The hallway was just as extravagant as the rest of the castle that she had seen. Expensive materials, deadly looking architecture, and burning cauldrons and torches as sources of light.

The man who lead her - vampire, she reminded herself - was an interesting puzzle. He felt like a statue, and had the emotional stability of one. He was just… quiet. In the mind, in the soul. There was a comfortable peace about him, and he just felt… ancient.

"How old are you, Lyon?" she asked curiously. "Sorry if that's a really abrupt question-" she stammered quickly, realizing how rude of a statement it was."

"Not at all. Lord Dracula had warned me that you were unique in your demeanor." He didn't even glance at her as he walked. "I am nearly two thousand years on this earth."

That made sense. He _felt_ that old.

Dracula was closer to… four? Five? Who knows how many thousands of years old he was… and yet, it suddenly occurred to her how little he carried himself in that way. Compared to the vampire priest, who felt as ancient as the stone he resembled. Dracula was a maddening pool of quickly-shifting emotions beneath a dour surface. Like a riptide underneath a frozen lake. Why? What kept him that way?

"Although most choose to comment on my being a priest as a first line of questioning," the vampire added.

"Huh," she replied, thoughtfully. "I guess that is… kinda weird. But I've had a lot of really weird things turn out to be fact lately. I'm pretty ready to accept just about anything as fact at this point," she said with a small laugh.

"Mm, yes. This place is want to challenge one's acceptance of normalcy. Even for those of us who live amongst its walls." Lyon approached a door with guards on either side. Isabel pulled up short, her eyes going wide. The guards were skeletons. In armor. She had seen zombies outside the castle where they had roamed the streets of Boston. But not… yeah, okay, fine. Sure. Skeletons now. Even though that made _no_ physical sense whatsoever. Why not.

The guards pushed the doors open for them, and Lyon stepped in, and then aside, to let her pass. He bowed at the waist as she did, and she looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Quit that," she muttered.

"Old habits," the vampire said with a faint smile.

Turning to scan the room she realized… pretty much everyone was staring at her. She had no idea who these people were, but there were about twenty people seated at a massive table which had to have been eight feet wide. Several large, ornate candelabras burned away over arrays of food, decanters, and what-not. At the head of the table, a chair larger and more decoratively carved than the rest. A familiar figure sat there, leaning heavily on one arm - bored. The vampire king didn't turn to look at her as he lifted a goblet of liquid to his lips.

She took a step back, but a hand at her mid-back stopped her. Isabel clenched her gloved fists. "I can't," she muttered.

"Please, my lady," the priest said quietly to her. "I have been instructed to drag you if I must. Do not make me do such a thing."

Isabel shut her eyes for a moment, pulled in a shaking breath, and then nodded as she let it out. She could do this. Opening her eyes, she saw a man stand up from the table. The figure sat near one of the heads of the table, and she recognized the figure without even having to see his face. Adam. There was an empty chair next to him. _Oh thank god,_ was her first thought. _What the fuck is Dracula planning,_ was promptly the second.

 _You shall see, my little dove._

Wincing at the voice in her head, his presence drifted over her mind like a dark cloud.

 _Shut the fuck up,_ she shouted back at him silently. _I have enough voices in my head without adding your stupid ass to the list._ The figure at the head of the table laughed once in response before taking another sip from his goblet.

Isabel let herself be half-lead by the vampire priest to the empty seat at the table next to her friend. The priest bowed again before walking away to take his own seat. Adam went to touch her - realized that she wasn't wearing sleeves, sighed, and lowered his hand. The two of them sat, and she tried to ignore Dracula sitting directly to her right.

The room returned to its general activity - the creatures sitting around it going back to their conversations and general rabble. She was no longer interesting. A man sat across from her who looked easily like he was a professional wrestler - he was _huge._ And hairy. _Werewolf-_ was what sprung to her mind unbidden, and she wondered if that was her, or Dracula who had provided the information.

A beautiful woman with long, emerald hair sat next to him, and she shot Isabel a single smile - if not altogether a friendly one - before turning back to her conversation with the werewolf.

Isabel reached out under the table and took Adam's hand in hers, and squeezed it. At least the gloves he had provided in exchange for their deal had let her do that much. Adam squeezed back, and smiled weakly at her. "Are you okay?" he asked her, voice low.

She laughed at that, and how absurd a question it was. Letting the pain she was feeling come to the surface for the first time in front of anyone since she had arrived. "No… No I'm not…"

"I was under the general misconception," Dracula began suddenly, cutting into their conversation rather pointedly. "That mortals _required_ food for survival."

Her jaw twitched as she bit back a snide remark and instead just turned her head to glare at the vampire king. He wasn't even looking at her - his expression as bored and dour as it was a moment ago. But she could feel his amusement. He wasn't hiding anything from her. Not with their link inescapable.

Sadly, her anger wasn't going to last - she was actually starving. And the food smelled incredible. With a sigh, she took some food from the platters in front of her, and did her best to pace herself.

"You look amazing," Adam said, and that made her look at him incredulously. "You clean up well," he said with a smirk. "That's all. I'm just - trying to cheer you up or… I'll shut up now."

Isabel laughed, a genuine laugh at the antics of her friend. She put her hand on his arm and gave him another squeeze - just glad to be able to touch her friend at all. "At least being a vampire hasn't warped your mind too badly."

"Don't get me wrong, I can smell the fresh blood on your neck and it's…" Adam looked down into his wine glass. "They tell me I'll get used to that. I don't know. Everything is… just so much brighter, so much _louder_ now. I don't need my glasses anymore."

Isabel watched him for a long moment, before finally asking the question she wanted to scream at him from the moment she saw the 'new him.' "Why did you do it?"

"Do what? Become a vampire?"

Isabel nodded.

Adam stared into the goblet and the reflection he must see there for a long time. "I'm a coward, Iz. I always have been. I'm afraid to die. I had a choice…"

Her hand went to the goblet that he was clutching to avoid looking at her. Taking it, she put it down on the table and took his hand in hers again. He shut his eyes, still refusing to look at her. She allowed it, though - as he squeezed her hand tightly in his. "I don't blame you. And I forgive you. Vampire or not."

"How very _touching-_ " a female voice interjected. Carmilla was sitting on the other side of Adam, and she looked like she had just put up with watching a bad middleschool rendition of Romeo and Juliet. "What did Lord Dracula threaten to inspire you to say that?" she replied with a sneer.

"Nothing. He doesn't tell me to say _shit,_ " Isabel replied pointedly.

"You will watch your tone with me!" Carmilla threatened.

Isabel snickered. "Look, lady. I don't know you. I don't _want_ to know you. I'm sorry for insulting you yesterday - because I don't honestly give two shits. You turned my friend into a vampire, but he agreed to it. So whatever. I have bigger problems than you," Isabel finished, and gestured her head in the direction of Dracula. "So go ahead and make fun of me all you want. It's easy to pick on somebody in my situation."

Carmilla looked at her, then Dracula, then back to her. Huffing, she sunk back into her chair and snapping her fingers, demanded another glass of wine - or blood - or whatever it was she was drinking.

Speaking of - her own glass was filled with something that resembled wine. Sniffing it, then taking a sip, she was happy to find that it was actually just that.

 _What a little spitfire…_ she heard his voice whisper in her mind again. Isabel flinched and put her hand to her head. Was this ever going to stop? _Not until you are cold in the ground..._

Adam leaned closer to her. "Are you alright?" Isabel opened her eyes and looked at him - and didn't have to say a word. Her harried, hopeless expression said it all. Adam leaned back in his chair. "Oh... " He chewed on his lower lip. "Anything I ask, he'll hear anyway, won't he?"

"Yeah…"

"Is he hurting you?"

That stopped her in her tracks. She opened her mouth to reply, then stopped, and looked over at the vampire king. He was now carefully watching her, his red eyes flickering in the candlelight.

Looking back to Adam, she shook her head no. And it was truthful - he hadn't ever hit her or done anything else to cause her physical harm. The bites notwithstanding, and she doubted that those counted as 'violence' to either of them. "No. Not yet."

 _You are distraught - would it put your mind at ease if I were to beat you like a tavern wench?_

Isabel winced again at the voice in her mind and she turned to glare at him. "Stop that," she hissed. "Just stop it."

Dracula grinned. "But it annoys you so terribly." _And you are rather entertaining when angry._

Isabel wanted to jump up, hurl the glass of wine in his face and tell him to go fuck himself. Wanted to beat him senseless with the silver tray in front of her. She gripped the edge of the table with both hands. Wanted to wipe the smug look off his face with repeated blows from a candleabra.

"I don't know what he's saying to you but don't. Don't do it," Adam advised, knowing his friend well enough to know when she was about to fly off the handle. "Not here. Not like this."

She followed her friend's advice, but not before downing the glass of wine.

* * *

The banquet went on for what was probably an hour - small talk, food, more food and more small talk. The dinner was dismissed to another chamber that was more like a large parlor - and groups of the monsters hovered around chatting and laughing. It was a party for the undead.

Isabel stood by one wall by herself. Adam had tried to join her, but he couldn't escape Carmilla, who was keeping him close at hand across the room from her. But it was alright - it gave her time to sulk by a window, looking out over the darkness that was once Boston, and was now a corrupted, bastardized nightmare of a castle.

"Well hey, toots. Who knew you were a regular cruizin' babe?"

Isabel whipped her head around, her eyes wide in shock. "Tim?!"

Sure enough, there was… Tim. The vampire's companion that she had shot, who had come back due to his unnatural link with Maverick, and then who she had seen slain by Adrian - _with_ Maverick. Killing them both.

"What- How-" she stammered uselessly.

Tim laughed. "Man, the look on your face is almost worth it."

"I don't-" she stammered still.

"Yeah, yeah. Look-" Tim pointed across the room. Walking in was.. Maverick and Aria. The vampire husband and wife. The doctor who had arranged her abduction from the cathedral. _She had seen them die. Seen them beheaded._

"I-" Isabel shook her head. "I-"

"Nothin' that dies in the castle is ever really dead…" Tim said, his enjoyment of her shock now fading into a disgruntled acceptance. "We died on castle grounds. It's not letting us go. It brought us back for some reason."

He let her stand there in silence for a long moment as she tried to wrap her head around what he was saying. The castle had resurrected the three of them… Is that how Dracula kept coming back? How all these creatures kept coming back? 'Nothing that dies in the castle is ever really dead.'

Adrian had killed the three of them inside the boundaries of the castle… so they were, what, bound to it now? "Can you leave here?"

"Dunno. Don't think so… Not yet anyway. Mav's fucking pissed. He didn't want _anything_ to do with this place or Dracula and now we're all _stuck_ here…"

Fear froze her for a moment. If she died here…

"Hey, toots, I just came over to say hey, and say no hard feelings about your buddy. Good to see you. Especially when you're a babe." Tim winked at her and walked away back towards the vampire he was bound to.

"Yeah, bye-" she replied, but too late.

Isabel looked out the window again, terror renewed. If she died here, she'd be trapped here… for who knows how long. If Eric, or Adam… if they were even considered alive still - what then? Or was it… was it already too late for them?

 _It has been too late for all of you for some time now._

"Shut _up,_ " she hissed angrily through her teeth, now glaring out the window. She folded her arms in front of herself, to hide the fact that her hands were shaking.

 _Come here._

The voice in her head beckoned her again - calling her, and every ounce of her being wanted to walk across the room to where the vampire king was brooding in a chair at a table. She kept her feet planted where she stood. "Fuck off," she whispered at the window.

 _I will not ask twice._

"You didn't _ask_ once, you self-righteous piece of-"

 _Careful…_

The warning was clear. Watch her step. He would tolerate her insolence in private - to him alone. But these were his creatures, his people to rule. And he was their newly resurrected 'master.'

Impotent rage swirled around in her with nowhere to go. She wanted to break something _desperately._ And there was nothing she could do without incurring his wrath. No sneak attack she could plan that would be successful. He could feel it just the same as she.

It was impossible to keep her emotions guarded - impossible to keep them hidden away from him when he was inside her mind. This must be what it's like for everyone else, she observed. No wonder people hated having her around sometimes - some feelings were best kept personal.

He was silent inside her mind, but she knew he was waiting - the quiet insistence was still there. 'Come here' was his last command.

 _For every minute now that passes I will remove one of your friend's fingers from his hand._

"You're bluffing," her eyes went wide at his threat.

 _Am I?_

He wasn't. She could feel it. She _knew_ he would. He may not have lifted a hand to her - _yet -_ but that did not mean that he would not torture her friends further. A vision of Eric screaming flashed through her mind - and she winced.

Turning, she walked from the window, and walked up to him where he sat. She stopped, standing two feet in front of him, and folded her arms defiantly across her chest. "Yeah?"

"Kneel," he commanded.

The vampires and what-have-yous that sat around him all stopped talking, and looked at her eagerly - waiting to see what she would do.

Something in her snapped - enough was enough.

Isabel laughed sarcastically. "Fucking really? That's your game? You dress me up to come here to your little dead man's party to what, make me debase myself in front of all your underlings? Or you're going to torture and maim my friends. Fine."

Isabel got down on her knees, and glared up at him. "Ta-dah. Congratulations. Gold star. You win. Here you go, big man. Why don't you just unzip and get it over with already?!"

Her anger had made it such that she didn't care what he did - didn't care what his reaction was. Or at least, that's what she believed in the moment. It's funny how quickly anger pales in the light when you find yourself flat on your back, a crumpled and shattered coffee table around you.

Isabel couldn't breathe - his blow had knocked the wind out of her. She wasn't even sure what had happened - only a blur, and then stabbing pain wracking her body as she was planted _through_ a piece of furniture.

"Your suffering for this insult will be _far_ more enjoyable than any false obedience, _my pet…_ " the dark figure looming over her gestured a hand - and the world around her disappeared in a swirl of fire.

Lying on her back on the carpeted floor of the rooms she had been brought to to change, she rolled weakly onto her side and coughed - the cough sending more stabbing pains through her side.

His voice entered her mind, and terror flooded her.

 _Relish your time alone… when I return, your payment will come in full._


	10. Chapter 10

**IMPORTANT NOTE: This chapter earns me the M rating for sex. If this bothers you, scroll down to a triple line break. I'd like to think the scene is important to the story, but hey, it was also fun to write. ;)**

 **Thank you all _so_ much for the wonderful reviews. It really means a great deal to me! ****I was inspired to write this after the Netflix series as well - I loved the interesting take on Dracula for a change, and I wanted to keep going with it. I also try not to write anything predictable! So let's see where it goes.**

* * *

It took her a solid ten minutes to pull herself off of the floor. Her back and neck ached badly from being put through the coffee table. She had been in a few decent dust-ups in her years traveling the world - so she knew when she was going to get one hell of a bruise.

She took a step, winced, and stretched. Bending her head to the side, she cracked her neck, and felt a little better - for what it was worth.

Isabel walked up to a dresser with a large silver-framed mirror, and stretched to peer over her shoulder at her back. A red and angry mark decorated the skin between her shoulderblades revealed itself to be the source of the burning she felt.

This was the first time Dracula had raised a hand to her. For all that he'd done, he hadn't ever hit her. Not until she couldn't keep her cool any longer and decided to open her big fat mouth. And now… god help her. Was it worth it? Was it worth it to throw his stupid demand in his face? Why had he asked her to kneel? Why ask her to debase herself like that?

A small buffet table was against the wall, decorated with decanters and she walked over to pour herself a drink. She'd need it. Maybe if she got herself half trashed, she wouldn't feel whatever torture he was going to levy on her. Oh - look - bourbon. Thank god for small favors.

Dracula must have known how she would react when he commanded her to kneel. She sipped the bourbon. He _must_ have known what she would do-

Oh.

That _fucker._

Of course he knew… Of course Dracula knew how she would react. He wasn't _testing_ her - he was _playing_ her.

A roar of fire from behind her, and she felt him wash over her like hot water. Fear gripped her, and she downed the glass of bourbon. She didn't even flinch as it burned her throat. Tex would have been proud.

It must be him having fed from her and her blood in his veins that made it feel so bizarre when he was close. When he was near her, she could feel his presence like it was a physical thing wrapping around her mind. It was both somehow horifying and… she didn't know a word for the other half of it.

She poured herself another bourbon, and turned around to face him. He stood there, watching her, his features dour and unreadable, his emotions simply that of… waiting. Watching.

Isabel wondered what he expected her to do.

She imagined that he had seen it all - seen people cry, weep, beg for forgiveness. Scream, fight him, sling punches or claw at his face. Or righteous defiance, pitching invectives and curses, pledges that they were untouchable in the eyes of god. A flash of a memory of a quiet resilience of a nun, who refused to say anything or do anything at all. He had seen all of it before in scores - thousands of people had chosen one path or another over his countless centuries. Isabel felt the knowledge hovering beneath the surface. Their _link_. She wondered if she would ever have a quiet moment alone in her own head in her short days she had left.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked, sipping the bourbon. "Which one of those people do you want me to be?" Isabel knew that despite her attempt to be nonchalant about the ordeal, the fear that raged beneath the surface was impossible to hide. So, she didn't try to mask the fact that her hand was trembling as she had raised the glass to her lips.

Despite how much time she had spent in his presence - his looming stature, red eyes, and his ever-frowning expression was as intimidating as it ever had been. He could end her with a gesture. And yet, now she knew the horrible truth. If she died here… she would never leave. Isabel assumed that the revelation of that little fact was also part of his plan for the evening.

She had decided it was easier to stare directly ahead - at his vest, instead of into the flickering gaze that stared straight into her. "You knew what I'd do - you _knew_ I'd open my mouth and say something stupid in anger."

"I did."

"You played me. This was all a scheme - Adam, and now Tim and Maverick proving that even if I die, I can't escape. You set it all up."

"Yes."

"Why?!"

When he lifted his hand, she flinched - and she heard him laugh once. His hand went to her chin, and a single pointed nail lifted her head to look at him. "For no other reason," he sneered. "Than my own amusement. The continuation of our… game."

"I-"

"And since your outburst was _public,_ your punishment must be so as well."

"Wait-"

He cut her off, stepping towards her, his hand moving to cup her chin as he held it tilted to look up at him. His long dark hair was loose, and shone in the candlelight of the dark room. His eyes glinted as if they had their own source of light. "But perhaps…" he paused, and ran his thumbnail ran along the edge of her darkly painted lower lip. His gaze flicked to follow the path he traced, and his expression shifted to something… darker, something she didn't want to name. "It may wait until tomorrow…"

His other hand took the glass from hers, and he moved away from her to set it on a table. His sudden closeness and then his moving away from her made a shiver run up her sore back. "You put me through a piece of furniture," she reminded him as she, too, was reminded by the sudden lancing pain.

Dracula ignored her, although she felt his amusement. He circled her like a shark would circle his prey. It took every ounce of self control to not turn to follow him. "Some wish to be taken… so that their dignity remains. Some to be seduced, some to perform the seduction. Others desire to be broken entirely... Some, too shy and naive to even know what they want. I have spent much time, determining which you are…"

His sudden shift to innuendo baffled her - she turned her head to look at him, and he had stopped behind her. Dracula's comments mirrored the thoughts in her mind that he had echoed of those who begged for forgiveness.

And then it all made sense. Isabel realized suddenly it was all about power… All of this. The giving, taking, and negotiation of power. It was what thrilled him… or bored him, if he played an unworthy opponent. "You still haven't answered which you wish I would be," she said, quietly - very unsure of her position on the board.

Dracula walked back towards her, moving to stand behind her, and she felt stalked like so much prey. At any moment, he might snap and end her. She had insulted him, and Isabel had expected him to lash out at her - expected him to hurt her, to hurt Adam or Eric. Dracula raised his hands to touch her - and her jaw twitched as she gritted her teeth, and waited for the blow.

She felt his nails run along the line of the dress she had chosen, tracing the wound between her shoulderblades, and she stiffened at his touch - and if she had to admit it, only _partially_ out of fear.

Dracula seemed to be examining his handiwork, his fingers gently running along the forming bruise, and she half expected him to press into it to cause her pain. Goosebumps appeared on her skin as she jolted as one of his nails traced a sensitive nerve. She wanted him to just get it over with - to hurt her, or do whatever it was that he felt she deserved for what she had said.

Dracula laughed at her reaction - and likely her thoughts - and she felt him step in closer to her. Isabel felt his cool breath on her skin as his face hovered close to her ear. She shut her eyes tight, and clenched her fists. Waiting. Waiting for the blow that didn't come.

Instead, she felt his lips against her skin, on the spot on her neck just below her ear. She went to step away from him - but one of his arms snaked around her waist and pulled her back against him, pressing her up against his body.

Dracula ran his other hand slowly through her hair, pushing her head just slightly to the side. His lips grazed her ear as he whispered, his voice low and deep. "What I wish you would do… you may find _remarkably_ distasteful."

The hand that had run through her hair was now dragging his nails faintly down her throat, and to her collarbone, and then further south, tracing the line of her dress across her bust. Isabel pulled in a sharp breath and shut her eyes as she twitched under the sensation.

"You are wonderfully responsive," he said with a small chuckle into her ear.

"You're cheating…" she muttered back.

"Oh?" he pulled his head away from her ear, and she could feel his playful indignancy. "You accuse me of cheating simply for playing an instrument never before touched?"

Isabel growled and opening her eyes, elbowed him in the stomach. It was like elbowing a wall - and she knew it wouldn't do any good. It hadn't been the point. Dracula laughed, and she shrieked as he suddenly grabbed her and whirled her around to face him. Before she could react or register what was happening, he had picked her up, taken two large strides then sat her on top of a table against the wall. "What do you-" she tried to protest - but her words were cut off as he kissed her.

Isabel's mind emptied of thoughts as his lips met hers with a fiery _need_ that washed over her. Her stomach felt like it had fallen into a pit. His hand snaked around behind her neck, lacing into her hair and pulling her head to him as he deepened the kiss.

She moaned against his lips, eyes shutting, unable to help it as he assaulted her senses. His other hand pushed her knees apart to stand between them, moving closer to her and angling her head up towards him, arching her back. His hand slid up her leg from knee, slowly inching north until it slipped under the fabric of her dress, and she let out a small 'mmnh!' against his lips. Whether it was a noise of protest, or out of the thrill that ran through her nerves, she herself didn't know.

He broke the kiss slowly, leaving her breathless, his hand still cradling the back of her head, fingers tangled in her hair. She looked up at him, seeing the smoldering lust in his eyes.

After a pause, he stepped back away from her, his hand releasing its hold on her hair and leaving her, sitting on the edge of the table. She slipped off, back to standing, her hands gripping the edge of the marble top as she did. Isabel was trembling - overwrought.

 _Make your choice,_ his voice echoed in her mind.

Her heart was pounding, and she looked at him, wide-eyed and unsure. He was letting her decide… and she knew he meant it. If she said no, despite the _burning_ she felt from him, he would leave her be. Well, at least until tomorrow...

"You… plan on torturing me publically," she reminded him.

Dracula sighed. "You must meet some recompense for your actions, yes." He paused, and added as an afterthought. "I am complex, I understand." He shrugged once, unapologetic.

"Will… Will I survive it?"

"That will be up to you."

Isabel shut her eyes, conflicted. With a pause, she finally admitted to herself that she… wanted him. He was gorgeous - built like a statue, and his danger was both terrifying and thrilling. He was like some dark greek god. _But older…_ she reminded herself. Isabel _hated_ him for what he had done to her, to her friends. But he, himself... and his touch… had become intoxicating, and she couldn't help but relish in her first real contact. It was a terrifying thrill that she couldn't deny left her breathless. He could have made this simple, and just forced her. Or, honestly, just kept going - leaving her helpless and unwilling to say no.

But he had stopped. Dracula wanted her to embrace _him._ And tomorrow, he might end her life. Isabel tried not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation - and that hey, if she died tomorrow… this was her only shot. _I wonder if this counts as Stockholm Syndrome,_ she pondered quietly to herself.

She took one timid step towards him, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her dress.

 _Such beauty…_

That felt different - those words inside her mind. Isabel looked up at him, curiously, and blinked. "Did you… mean to - 'say' - that?"

Dracula's jaw twitched as he clenched it. "No. Your gift makes this… challenging to control." He was unaccustomed to being at any kind of disadvantage, and the constant effort it took to keep the connection under control had slipped.

Isabel watched him curiously for a moment, and she took another timid step towards him. "If I-" she started and then stopped, not even sure what she was trying to say. What if she did? What would it mean? Was she surrendering to him? Not really, if she was making a conscious choice… "This doesn't… This doesn't mean you _win._ "

"Of course not…"

Isabel would have accused him of mocking her again, but he seemed… sincere. With one last timid movement forward, she was standing in front of him. Taking off her gloves, she tossed them aside to a nearby chair. Turning back to her, she reached up and for the first time, touched _him_. Her fingers ran along his face gently, and she let her palm touch his cheek.

He shut his eyes, and leaned into her touch. It had been so long since someone had touched him willingly. It was a strange and grateful pain, loneliness, lust, joy and… self-loathing, all at once. The thoughts fluttered around her mind like they were her own.

She had made her choice. God help her.

She let her other hand run up along his chest, running up the edge of his dark vest, tracing up to the collar of his shirt. Her fingers ran along the skin of his neck, and she stood up on her toes to place a kiss against his lips. It was the first time she had ever kissed anyone. And it was _Dracula._ The thought almost made her laugh.

His moment of exposed reflection shattered as quickly as it had come. She let out a startled yelp as he suddenly broke the embrace and scooped her up, setting her back down on her feet in the bedroom. Fear suddenly stung at her, panic about what she had chosen.

"Ssh," he ran his hand slowly through her hair, fingers running along her cheek as he bent down to kiss her - slowly, but deeply. Savoring it. Savoring _her._ One hand went to the back of her neck again, the other slid slowly down her shoulder, fingers brushing along her skin.

She felt useless, foolish in her inexperience. He broke the kiss only to trail slow kisses down her neck to her shoulder. His hands slid around behind her, and began to slowly undo the laces of her dress. Isabel was shaking - but she didn't protest, didn't fight him as he undid the last one, and let the dress slip to the floor.

She hadn't worn a bra, with the strapless dress - it had been a corset-style, so she hadn't needed one. Now she regretted the choice as cold air touched her skin. He returned to kiss her slowly - trying to ease her fears. She fought the urge to cover herself - modesty was pointless now. Isabel stepped out of her heeled boots, and he pressed her back onto the bed, coaxing her to kneel, then lay back on the sheets.

Isabel looked up at him as he climbed onto the bed next to her. He had shrugged out of his coat and vest. She jolted as his hand slid across her side and to her stomach. Dracula smirked down at her at her reaction. With one arm propping him up, he bent down to kiss her. The fiery need grew as he delved his tongue past her lips, deepening the kiss with a low growl.

His hand slowly slid up her stomach, slipping up slowly to run his fingers along one of her breasts. One of her hands quickly found its way to his shirt, gripping it, the other clinging to the sheets. She was terrified - unsure - and her choice of partners didn't help matters. His hand squeezed her flesh, then - and _hard_ , causing her to arch her back, crying out.

Dracula broke the kiss with a laugh and occupied himself by running his tongue along her neck beneath her ear before whispering into it. "Did you expect me to gentle, little dove? I feel as though that would do you a _disservice._ " He kneaded her breast in his hand as he whispered in her ear, and she took in a shuddering gasp.

His head traveled lower, trailing kisses down her skin as she laid there, breathlessly unable to argue. Dracula reached his target, and she let out a low moan as he circled his tongue around her nipple before pulling it into her mouth. Her moan became another sharp cry as he bit down, but not hard enough to break the skin.

 _Good idea..._

Her hand was tangled in his hair now, needing something - _anything -_ to hold onto as he assaulted her skin. He made good on his comment, and she felt his fangs pierce the skin of her breast.

Isabel arched her back into him, unable to even make a noise as her mind went white-hot with pleasure. She was able to finally admit that was what it had always been - a pain and pleasure both that cut straight through her. The strange purr came from his throat again as she felt his own ecstasy echoing in her mind as her hot blood met his tongue.

He only took a mouthful before pulling his fangs from her skin, and lazily began to lick the wound.

"You… you bastard," she muttered weakly in between heavy breaths. Her mind was reeling.

Dracula laughed quietly in response, and sat up onto his knees. Taking the edge of her tights in both hands, he gently pulled them down her legs and tossed them aside. Isabel found the strength to sit up, kneeling in front of him, surprising him as she ran her hands up along his chest. God, he felt like marble.

He knelt there, content to watch her unbutton his shirt as the flame smoldered within him. She pushed his shirt off his shoulders, and let her hands wander across his skin. Isabel had never touched anyone like this… and it felt… amazing. His pale skin was cool under her own touch, but she didn't mind. Isabel could feel his own desire flare at her timid explorations. She leaned forward, and kissed his skin just at the collarbone.

A low moan left his throat - and Isabel saw in his mind a memory of him cutting himself across the chest with a nail - to let a woman drink from him. She blinked, looking up at him curiously.

 _Not yet._

He shrugged out of the rest of his shirt, and placed his hand against her lower back, and pressed her to him, feeling the strength of his body against her skin - and feeling his arousal pressed against her stomach through his pants.

For some reason, that made it all real. A feeling like a pit welled in her, like when you pitch over the edge of a rollercoaster. He tilted her head up to his and kissed her again before easing her back down against the bed.

He kept the kiss going as he trailed his hand down her - running down along over her breast, slipping across her stomach, and delving lower to where a fire had begun to grow in her own body.

His fingers slipped under the edge of her underwear, and she let out a 'mnh!' against his lips as he found her core. She jolted, squirmed, and he paused to let her calm down. He lifted from the kiss just enough to run his teeth along her lower lip. Her carefully applied dark lipstick had long since vanished. _How I adored to see you in crimson..._

Isabel managed to still her body for a moment - long enough to satisfy his patience. A moan escaped her lips as he began to slip one finger inside of her. Her back arched up against him, and he kept the kiss insistent, firm, but not the devouring fire he had before. Isabel knew he was pacing himself for her benefit.

Dracula moaned against her lips as well - and pressed his finger in slowly deeper, before pulling the digit halfway out and then pressing back in, the tempo maddeningly slow. The fire in her body demanded more - what he was doing wasn't enough, even as sensation wracked through her.

His thumb pressed against her sensitive spot and she dug her nails into his skin, gripping him harder as pleasure lanced through her abruptly. He laughed against her, and continued his slow ministrations.

Suddenly he pressed his sharp thumbnail down against her and she writhed, almost bucking his hand off of her and breaking the kiss as she gasped for breath, pleasure flooding her body as an orgasm unexpectedly ripped through her like a train. " _Fuck-_ " she swore through a gasp.

"Generally the idea, yes…" he muttered against her cheek, and she felt his lips curl in a smile. She punched his shoulder weakly for his sarcastic remark, drawing a small chuckle from him.

He pulled his finger from her body, and he slid her underwear away from her, down her legs and discarded it with the rest of her clothing. Shifting, he bent her legs and moved in between them. Holding himself over her with one hand by her head, she felt him undo his pants with the other.

When she felt him press against her entrance, she tensed in fear - and he lent down to kiss her. Everything in her cried _wait -_ but his waiting was over. This was her choice, and it was time. With a hand wrapped around her hip, he drove himself into her in one sharp motion, straight to the hilt. He snarled in pleasure, his eyes shutting. Isabel's back arched, pressing her breasts to his chest as her mind went blank as many things happened at once. He was splitting her apart, filling her - and it hurt. But she had other, more overwhelming sensations to worry about.

She had forgotten about 'her gift' and it's implications… that if this were to happen, there was no telling the outcome. It was easy to forget that she was not allowed these kind of things - easy to forget that it took great control on Dracula's part to keep her power at bay.

He was inside her body - and now… he was _truly_ inside her mind. And she, his. Before, she could feel his thoughts flitting about the surface of his mind - the ones that he let slip. They had explored each other's dreams. But this was to be laid bare before him… and he before her.

It was an echo chamber of emotion - a feedback loop of pleasure that crashed through them both. His lips found hers with a devastating and crushing _need._ He had wanted this since first he laid eyes upon her - since first he touched her skin and found this little impetuous firebrand invading his mind. He could have taken her at any time - but such weakness would destroy a greater prize. Take the body, and lose all the rest. She had given her body to him willingly - and this let the game continue for the rest of her.

Isabel moaned against his lips, her body slowly calming from the onslaught - feeling her muscles unlock from his thrust into her. She had dug her nails into him - hard enough to leave marks - and she slowly let up her tense grip on him.

As she did, he withdrew from her slowly - almost all the way, before slowly slipping back in. Isabel arched her back against him again as the sensation flooded her mind. He moaned loudly against her lips as her body tightened around him again. Her body fit to his flawlessly - and he felt her buck her hips up against him as he finished his push forward. The simple action almost made him lose control. Dracula wanted nothing more than to eke out against her violently that desire that he had withheld - what he plied his practiced self control to contain.

No. Not yet. Savor this.

Isabel slid her hands to his face, running her fingers through his hair as he kissed her hungrily. It hurt - the feeling of his hard length inside her body - but god… it ached at the same time with a sensation that she thought might drive her insane. His tongue delved past her lips, and this time, she let her own respond to the dance. He moaned against her as she did, and he pulled himself back again, pushing forward back into her body with the same methodical tempo he had used with his finger.

His hand slid from her hip up to cup a breast. Her skin was soft, and impossibly hot under his cool hand. He traced the bite marks he had left there, running the hard nipple between his fingers. Dracula moaned low against her lips, feeling her lift her hips against him again as he bottomed out his stroke. It had been a long time since he had lain with a woman, and this one was not disappointing after the wait. Her body was an inferno around him, and he happily burned within the flames.

How he wanted to destroy her beneath him - push her limits and discover of what she was truly capable.

Finally, he allowed her to breathe, breaking the kiss. Isabel panted for air, her chest heaving, as he rocked his body against hers, methodical - slow - almost a machine in its unwavering force. Her thoughts were his, and vice versa - heard his mind as she felt his restraint - felt the great beast he kept at bay…

Isabel pulled his head to hers - trailing slow kisses up his jaw, to his ear. She nipped his earlobe, and she heard him growl deep in his throat - the hand he used to keep from falling upon her clenching in the sheets.

Finally, she whispered into his ear. "I thought you weren't going to be gentle…"

That was too much for him. Her mind was around his, as vice-like as her body, burning away at both. Her words sent him over the edge, and he happily abandoned his restraint. His hand snaked around under her knee, bending it up towards her, her knee now in the crook of his elbow as he leaned forward, exposing her to him.

Isabel let out a wordless cry as he thrust into her _hard -_ burying himself into her body to the hilt with an impact that drove to her core. He kept his hips against her, not letting up the pressure. She felt him - hard against her end. God, the ache was painful - and god, it was wonderful.

He pulled back slowly - withdrawing from her almost completely before ramming into her again like a piston. Isabel cried out again, writhing underneath him. A third time, and she moaned as ecstasy flooded her, her body unable to handle the onslaught of sensations.

Dracula growled low in his throat, feeling her tense around him as she came from his thrusts - but he would not be stayed. Not now. His tempo increased, his impacts into her still bruisingly strong. The sensation of filling her so completely threatened to end him.

A small wordless noise of ecstasy and pain escaped her throat each time he drove into her and met her end without pity - and she laid there, hips meeting his blows - lost in the pleasure same as he. A glorious creature lay before him - taking his violent need with joy.

Isabel was lost in his mind - lost in the feeling of his body as he leaned back to ease his leverage on her. He gripped her hip now, and pulled her against him with each thrust. Every time she thought it was impossible for her to be driven further, he proved her wrong. A cry of pleasure left her as her body lit up as an orgasm crashed over her like a wave - and this time her body tightening around him was simply too much.

Dracula doubled over her, and let out a loud growl as he met his end. He moaned, and drove his fangs into her neck, drawing another from her as he did. Hot blood splashed against his tongue as he tasted her, taking some of her as she took some of him.

Isabel felt her mind slowly come down from wherever it had flown off to, feeling him sucking on her neck, the speeding tempo of their hearts echoing through her in more ways than one. He pulled his teeth from her skin, licking the wound with a slow, lazy circle.

He pulled himself from her - his tongue still licking the sensitive wound in her neck, making her twitch and whimper underneath him. Dracula was purring low in his throat, and she felt the vibration in his chest. He was utterly content to stay here like this, forever, basking in so many sated hungers.

Isabel laid there, her eyes shut - too overwhelmed for much else. Her heart was pounding in her throat, and she was focusing on breathing. Dracula shifted, moved from her for a moment before she felt a blanket pulled up over her, and felt his weight on the bed next to her.

He wondered if regret would come to her, and if so how quickly - if she would curse him for his seduction. Deny her participation as a trick of her 'gift.' If she would send him away this night. She would curse him for the bruises he left, he was certain. He laid there next to her, propped up on an elbow, watching her.

Isabel slowly opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. She could still hear him in her mind like they were the same person. She reached up a hand and ran her fingers along his face, and pulled his head down to hers. Isabel kissed him slowly, letting her eyes drift shut again. Exhaustion was filling the places where pleasure had been - it was overwhelming. Breaking the kiss, she kept her hand on his face. _Stay._

He smiled faintly as he sunk down to the bed next to her, and pulling the blanket up over them, let his arm drape over her as sleep claimed her.

* * *

Isabel woke with the feeling of a hand tracing its way slowly through her hair. She was lying on what felt almost like cool marble - but she knew better. Her mind had been quiet of dreams as she slept, and what had happened the previous night came back to her quickly. She felt… rested, for once.

She felt a lot of things, to be fair. Sore, for one, as she shifted slightly. Her back ached from when he had put her through the coffee table at the banquet - the rest of her achine from, well, when she had decided to sleep with him.

Isabel wondered if she should feel shame - regret - if she should be angry at herself, or at him, for what had happened. The hand in her hair stilled, as though waiting for her to decide how she was going to react now that she was conscious. Although his thoughts weren't mingled so directly with hers anymore - she could still feel his emotions roaring away at the surface of her mind.

Content, but wary of her reaction. He seemed eager to know how she would react to what they had done.

Isabel opened her eyes and lifted her head to look at him - she was still naked, underneath the blanket he had pulled on top of them. He was half-sitting against the headboard, looking down at her as her head was on his chest.

"At least if I die," she muttered to him quietly. "It won't be as a virgin."

Dracula laughed once in his throat, and smirked down at her - pleased with her response. Evasive - not admitting defeat, not arguing the point. Speaking of arguing the point, she looked at him curiously. "You still plan on… whatever it is you're going to do for what I said."

His face turned cold, looking much like the statue he often resembled. "Yes."

Isabel narrowed an eye - trying to figure out how that made sense. He - oh. "That's why. That's why you set me up in public like that. Because I embarrassed you in front of your minions… you have to publically display my punishment. … Or else they will think less of you for it." Isabel shifted to sit up, looking down at him - trying to ignore her nudity. Nothing he hadn't seen already.

"Clever," he responded, confirming her theory. "I wonder if you put that together on your own, or if by benefit of your gift."

Isabel shrugged, not knowing the answer. "What I want to know is… okay - why?"

He looked at her, face still cold and empty. "You will have time to come to a conclusion on your own."

She sighed, and ran her hair through her wavy hair. He was still such a mess of contradictions - of quicksilver shifts between emotions and demeanors. Even the fallout of her gift - when their minds were tangled together - gave her little real insight into the 'why' of his actions.

Dracula sat up, placed a hand against the side of her neck, and a kiss against her forehead. He lingered there for a moment, fighting the desire to do more, then released her as he slipped out of the bed. He gathered his shirt from the floor, and began to redress himself.

"Have fun doing the… fire-swirl of shame back to wherever it is you're going," she smirked at her joke.

"I do not understand," he looked at her vaguely confused.

"It's a joke-" she started. "People call it the walk of shame. When you have to walk home in clothes from the day prior, because- oh nevermind," she gave up with a half laugh. She forgot that he had been dead for quite a while.

"Modern humor." Dracula shook his head. "I will give you some time to wake and dress before I return for you."

"Wait-" she stopped him, something occurring to her. He looked at her and raised a thin eyebrow. The vampire wondered if she was going to plead and argue. "I… what do I call you? I've never… I've never referred to you by anything other than your last name, and it… seems really silly calling you anything, knowing how many names you've had…"

"Vlad," he said, his hard expression softening to one that was surprisingly tender. "You may call me Vlad."

And with that, he was gone in a rush of fire.

* * *

How do you dress for public torture? Isabel stared into the wardrobe with a sigh. Function over form was hard when you had a vampire king picking your clothing. A deep red halter-top blouse and black slacks, ankle boots. Something she could run in if she ever had the chance. All her options were either black or crimson - and she found herself annoyed and vaguely offended that he wanted her to dress like his possession. Her forearm length gloves gave her some sense of protection, at least. What she wouldn't give for her hoodie.

And so she sat - and waited. She didn't have to for long, as a column of swirling fire appeared in front of her, Dracula at the center of it. She jumped in her seat, startled. Isabel didn't think she'd ever get used to that.

He stood in full regalia - long black coat that reached down to his ankles, deep red shirt, black vest with a silver pocket chain. His long black hair was pulled to the back of his neck, and he looked like the perfect image of a victorian nightmare.

Isabel stood up slowly, and tried to look unafraid. God, he was intimidating. Even with what had happened. He did not speak as he held out a hand to her - and wincing, she put her hand in his. This was going to happen - whatever it was - no matter what she did.

Vlad pulled her close to him, and put an arm around her as the fire exploded around them.

This time, because he didn't drag her through the fire like a rag doll, she appeared on the other side with him _without_ the desperate urge to be sick. He released her, and she took a step away from him, her arms wrapped around herself in a nervous attempt to protect herself.

Isabel looked around and what she saw took her breath away. They were in a giant indoor… arboretum. Monstrous and beautiful plants grew around them - roses of white and crimson ran around them on waist-high walls that ran through the garden. Statues of angels and demons dotted the garden, many with vines growing up their form as though the garden was attempting to consume them.

This didn't look like a place where he was going to wreak some horrible punishment on her. But before her hopes could rise, she felt something prickling at her mind. Turning her head - her heart fell.

The path on which they stood was met by several others in the center of a large circular opening. The center of which was dominated by a gigantic fountain - At least twenty feet tall. The centerpiece of the fountain were the figures of three angels - the one in the middle standing, holding a vase, pouring liquid down towards the hands of the other two who knelt on either side of the standing figure. They looked all in deep pain - their faces forlorn and lost, weeping.

It was beautiful… and horrible.

They were like the angels in a cemetery - and she _hated_ cemetery angels. They were worn by the liquid that flowed through the statue - one was missing several fingers from a hand. Their wings were shattered and broken.

What had prickled at her mind and caused her to turn was the… liquid that flowed through the statue. Isabel didn't know what it was - but it wasn't water. It almost looked like mercury. It ran off the surface of the statues without losing its form, running in complete droplets down into the pool of the silvery, reflective substance in the base of the pool.

Isabel felt dread well up in her and she didn't know why - something in her instinctively knew that this… this was horrible. That this must mean her end. Whatever this was, seemed designed _just_ for her. She turned to flee - turning straight into Dracula.

He placed a hand on her shoulder, and another under her chin, turning her to look up at him. Terror was bright in her eyes, and she silently begged him now not to do this - even though she didn't understand it.

"It is called the well of souls," he said, coldly, as he turned her to face the fountain. His hand on the back of her neck pushed her forward, and she staggered as he forced her steps. "What you see… is the physical manifest of the souls in this castle who no longer have the strength… or sanity… to remain whole."

That's why she was so afraid.

That is why this fountain filled her with terror.

What she felt was not one mind - but _countless_ millions. Lost, shattered, broken pieces of souls that screamed in wordless pain. As she was forced to walk forward, the statues… moved. Isabel let out a small squeak in her throat as three stone faces turned to look at her - pupil-less eyes staring into her.

The two who knelt reached out their hands towards her - calling for her - wanting her to be with them. Isabel let out a single sob of fear, and tried to back up. "Please…"

Dracula didn't let her move. "This must be," came his dark voice.

Isabel shut her eyes, and felt tears run down her face. She lifted her hand, and wiped them away. Fine. Fine. This was how she died. As part of a fucking _fountain._ Alright.

If she was going to die like this, she wasn't going to be thrown into it like a weakling. She angrily shoved his hand off of her neck, and she looked up at him, angrily glaring at him through the tears.

He stood there as cold and impassive as the marble figures around them. Dracula moved to stand aside, hand raised to gesture towards the statue, like one would gesture towards an open door.

Isabel clenched her fists, and looked towards the fountain with its hands outstretched. Stepping up to the lip of the statue, she was shaking in fear. As tough as she tried to be - as tough as she wished she was, she was terrified of what she saw and felt in front of her.

Climbing up onto the edge of the fountain - she tried not to scream as one of the kneeling angels reached out to grasp her arm - yanking her off the edge of the fountain, her arm now over her head as it turned her to face front like she was now part of the fountain. The other angel grasped her other arm. Suddenly she was now being held, suspended by their hands - which were the size of her forearms - over the liquid.

Isabel let out another frightened sob and tried not to kick, scream, or fight. There was nothing she could do against the marble grasp - let alone the vampire king beyond. They pulled her in closer, and she looked up to see the third angel with the pouring mercury-esque liquid. The angels were pulling her under the stream.

She turned her head down, shutting her eyes - and felt the freezing cold liquid hit the back of her neck and run down her back.

And that was the last cohesive thought she had.


	11. Chapter 11

It felt like she was floating in a sea of ice. Frozen at the surface, feeling the darkness around her. It was _cold._ It was dark… but worst of all…

It was silent.

There had been screams at first - screams in the night, the screams of thousands of the dying as they cried for help, cried in pain as the frozen ocean water took the life from their limbs - the life from their loved ones. The warmth of beating hearts holding each other could not overthrow the unyielding and freezing death that surrounded them.

The crying and screaming had faded until it was nothing but silence. The silence of the dead surrounding her in droves - bobbing in the water with ill-fated white life preservers. Blued skin, frosted lips. Dead eyes. The only thing visible in the darkness.

The life preservers had become a mockery of their intended purpose. In this case, keeping those who floated alive longer than those who drowned was a cruelty. They were a pittance of an apology from those on board the great ship that was now beneath the waves. The great unsinkable steamship, meeting its cold fate at the bottom of the Atlantic.

Sinking into the icy water would have been kinder than the life preservers that kept them suffering at the surface.

A quick death was an enviable one.

Fire and the flame - the fire licked up her flesh, turning her skin black. Her nerves were now dead, and now she could only watch as the fire curled up her skin that darkened, bubbled and flaked away. The roar of the inferno around her had taken the air from her lungs, and as darkness took her, she could only pray for her soul - and the souls of those who did this.

Hands - hands around his throat - someone was choking him. Oh god, he was dying - he couldn't be. There were people counting on him. He _had_ to live - or else -

A quiet death - lying in a bed, surrounded by family. Feeling the darkness begin to claim him - and know that he didn't deserve the life he led.

His hands were bruised and bloody - his knuckles stung from beating his wife to death. Her brains were splattered out across the floor. She had cheated on him - the dirty fucking whore. She deserved it. But now, his life was over too. He didn't know how to hide this. A gun from the drawer, and the taste of steel in his mouth, and they weren't anybody's problem anymore.

A blade into the kidney - and from behind, no less. A coward's death.

A song sprung to her lips, one she remembered from a life she had long ago. _Jackie hits the streets - she swears that all she sees is the hunger in their eyes, and the desperation in their speech. Jackie hunts the shadows with a bowie knife at her elbows. She cuts free those horrible drums that beat like bats beneath the sternum. She wears their fear around her neck…_

Who hunts death? For better or worse, he wanted his blood on her hands more than a man has ever wanted _anything_ from a woman. _And I don't see what everybody sees in your sexy body… All I see is a shallow grave trapped inside a pretty face. 'Rescue me' is written on your bed. Home is where the bullet lands as it travels through your head and I believe… that all I need to set me free - is for someone, someday, somewhere to murder me…_

The song finally made sense to her, and she laughed through a sob as she felt her knives tear her ribcage apart. Felt the pain of dying _again_ \- felt the pleasure, the joy as death finally granted his wish.

He wrapped the corpse in plastic he had in the back of his truck. It was 3-mil painter's plastic from a general contracting job he'd had earlier in the week, fixing some old cunt's kitchenup. It'd keep the body hidden for a while. 'A while' was all he needed until he could run. Until he could cross the border. _And the scene, it turns so grisly, and the children, they are crying. You hand them black umbrellas and tell 'em that the world is dying._

-A rope tangled around her neck as the men pulled the chair out from under her. She spasmed as she was denied the quick drop of a hanging and instead felt her throat crushed against the cinch of the biting hemp against her flesh. Her eyes bulged as they screamed at her.

 _Witch!_

 _Harlot!_

 _Die, whore of Satan!_

Rocks. Placed against his chest - one by one. One after another. And another. He would not beg forgiveness. He would not plead a lie. He was innocent. Another rock, and breathing was now almost impossible. Death would come for him soon. The men in black with their white collars glared - their torches lighting their eyes with fire. _Plead guilty!_ They screamed. _Plead your sins!_

He had but one thing to say in response.

' _More weight.'_

Every droplet against her skin was another death, another life, another shattered mind filling her own, using her and leaving her as it played out its shrapnel of memories. One after another, death after death, soul after soul went through her mind.

The ghosts wanted her to see. Wanted her to know. Wanted her to _feel._ They didn't even know who they were anymore - but she was like a grounding rod in a thunderstorm. Their wrath was mindless as they wanted _anyone_ to understand what they had lost.

Sleep was impossible, unconsciousness was kept from her. The stream of mercury that ran along her skin would not allow it. She shivered in the cold as they flooded her mind with endless visions.

When she had enough of a mind to her own to think she might remember where she was… she had to learn to breathe underwater. It was that, or nothingness. So she sang, quietly, to herself. _Doctor I'm tellin' you, to cut open please… Doctor I'm beggin' you… to bring me to my knees. Tear out all my flesh, and all my bones… Make me a cold machine, so I can walk alone…_

Isabel screamed as her sense of self was washed away - lightning striking her as the proverbial grounding rod once again as her world was taken away.

Tied to the tree - her hands were tied to the tree. Oh god, oh god - oh god - No, please! Struggling, she screamed in pain as she realized her legs wouldn't move. They hurt, oh god, they hurt.

Looking down, she screamed again as she saw why. A man was hunched over her, sawing away at her skin with a serrated army knife. Blood soaked his hands, his clothes, his face - as he sliced off a piece of her skin and… and ate it. Slurped it between bloody lips and savoring it like the finest delicacy. He moaned in pleasure as he wiped her blood along his lips - returning for more.

He looked at her, mad eyes wide with glee as the knife suddenly entered her throat. _Rarely does she factor into the people he chooses to consume… he likes them big and overgrown, more meat to gristle, more muscle he can hewn. … A hessian from Florida is now a rug in his foyer - a girl from Delaware is now a high-arched-back chair. The paperboy's a paperweight, the murderer's a lampshade. The fireman's an ashtray, the DJ spins as fan blades… When will it end, all these horrible things? He asked himself nightly, voices in his head sing…_

* * *

"Get up, Lyon. Don't be a fool."

Lyon stood from where he knelt on one knee in front of his Lord Dracula. The king sat upon his throne in the lavish chamber that was decorated with carvings of death and suffering. He folded his hands neatly behind his back, and waited for his king to speak. He had been summoned, after all.

"Speak."

"She is… not well."

"I know _that,_ " the dark vampire in the chair snarled. "Do you think I do not see it?! I asked for your insight, not a statement of the obvious."

Lyon didn't flinch at the outburst. He had become used to such things. But the king's mood seemed ill-suited to his statement, ill-suited to the apparent cause. So his rage belied another source of his mood. "I suspect," he began slowly. "You feel her torment."

Dracula's jaw twitched as red and angry eyes turned to meet his pale ones. Lyon remained unphased. If his lord were going to kill him for his petulance - he would have done so many aeons prior.

So it _was_ true. Lyon had not believed Carmilla's rumblings and rumors about Dracula taking a particular notice of the young girl. If his lord shared in her suffering, as it was clear he _did_ , then the process had begun. Dracula had begun to create a companion, after all these long years.

Lyon held back a sigh. Only his king would subject a potential bond to such suffering. Lyon understood - knew the reason behind it all, so he said nothing to that effect. His lord's madness was his own to shoulder. "I sat at the fountain for many hours. She did not once see me, though her eyes are open. I suspect she has not been allowed to rest." He paused for a long moment. "Occasionally, though - she… sings."

"What?"

Lyon raised his shoulders almost imperceptibly in a shrug. "Quietly. Different tunes - the lyrics confusing. I believe it is her attempt… to decipher what she is experiencing."

Dracula was silent, and looked away.

"Either she will lose her mind, or her body will be unable to persist in such a way."

"I am aware that mortals are fragile, Lyon."

"It was simply a reminder," Lyon said with a bow. Dracula growled low in his throat - knowing when the priest was being obstinate. "If that is all you require of me?"

"What would you have done, Priest?"

"None of what you have chosen. I fear that is why you keep me around." Lyon stood back up and smiled faintly at his old friend.

Dracula sighed deeply and gestured at him, dismissing him. Turning, Lyon made his way from the throne room. Before leaving, he stopped, and said one last thing over his shoulder. "My lord, she may not have long. Before either occurs."

* * *

Adrian found himself in the gardens. He let out a small 'huhn' in his throat. It looked familiar and unchanged since last he stepped through this place, many centuries prior. He remembered studying here - pouring over books of history and literature with his mother at his side, always humming.

Now, it was empty - silent and devoid of anyone. Just the plants, the statues… and him. He walked, his hand still hovering at the hilt of his sword. Silence was never a welcome noise in a castle that festered with the damned and the lost.

This place, although nostalgic, was uninteresting to him. He passed in front of a large fountain as he walked. Adrian pulled up sharply he was stopped by a voice.

"… Hey, chuckles…"

He whirled - and looked up at the large fountain that dominated the very center of the garden. It was called the 'Well of Souls,' if he remembered correctly. It was an ancient relic that trapped pieces of the broken souls inside of the castle and from wherever it had traveled. Remnants of those who died in the worst possible ways… ghosts, for lack of a better word, poured from the stone vessel the angels held aloft.

But it had a new feature. A young woman hung within its grasp, directly under the stream of liquid silver that poured from a stone vase. Isabel. The empath that his father had hunted and tormented. The psychic that had -

Oh.

Adrian sighed, deeply.

"Father, what have you done?"

* * *

She wasn't quite sure when she became conscious again. Waited for death - waited for some violent end that would reveal another vision. But none came. Now, she knew that she was looking at the glass ceiling of a large ornate greenhouse. She shuddered, feeling a chill rush through her - and expected her mind to empty out into another death - another broken memory. But none came.

Only silence.

The silence was somehow worse than the screaming…

She had heard that before - and her mind flashed to the frozen water of the Atlantic - to the dead like refuse floating amongst the debris from the wrecked ship.

Rolling onto her side - her limbs felt strange and detached. Like they weren't really hers. She pushed herself up to sitting, and looked down at her hands - gloved. These were her hands. She wanted to tear at her face, to tear at her own skin and see her blood flow forth. Anything to break up the visions that threatened to condemn her to madness.

 _Draw a line in the sand,_ she reminded herself. But her old mantras did no good in this situation. She had learned to tell herself apart from the ocean - not how to _breathe_ underwater. Was she dead? She didn't know… so many deaths flooded through her mind. Every possible way a person could die… hanged, shot, stabbed, trampled, starved, frozen… eaten...

So many times over the threshold, only to be pulled back and witness another.

Every death she felt like it had been hers. Every death was fresh in her mind all at once, and she put her head in her hands. All the fear.

"Isabel, are you alright?"

Isabel - yes, that was her name, wasn't it? - looked up from where she sat. A man with long, nearly white hair sat on the edge of a fountain, his clothing starkly dated from many centuries prior. He was beautiful - as beautiful as the statues around them, and just as unfeeling.

"Stupid question," she murmured, her voice unfamiliar.

He was watching her keenly with pale eyes that matched his hair, and he seemed… he pitied her. Why?

She flicked her eyes to the fountain behind him - the three angels - two of which were now both missing a hand each - like it had been cut clean off at the wrist. An image flashed through her mind of them reaching out to her. Of them pulling her into the stream. The stream was now… gone. No liquid flowed from the stone vase that the angel held. It now clutched it to its chest, looking down at the empty jug instead of holding it aloft.

Isabel looked back to Adrian, and realized he must have cut their hands off to save her. To pull her from the fountain. Isabel had no idea how long she had been in there. Or how long it had been since he pulled her out. Had he stopped the flow of the liquid? Why had it emptied?

"Thank you.." her voice sounded foreign, and she winced. She pulled her feet under herself, curling in towards herself as if somehow she was safer if she were smaller. "Why…?"

"I could not very well leave you there." He tilted his head to the side lightly. "But that is not what you were asking."

Isabel could only nod, weakly, and she put her hand to her head. "I don't… I'm sorry, everything is… a mess…"

"What did you see?"

"I think I died."

"You still live. But you _were_ dying."

"No-" she laughed, a harsh, spiteful laugh. "I died. Over and over. Again and again-" Adrian's perpetual frown deepened as she spoke, and she continued, her voice shaking. "I was raped to death, murdered, trampled by a cart, strung from the castle walls, nailed to a spike and left to die in the sun and felt myself pulled apart by _crows.._ "

The memory of her eyes being pulled from their sockets made her groan and put her head in her hands. There was _so much_ pain… so fresh in her mind that it was just… too much. Too much for her to process it it all. "I think I've gone insane…"

"Perhaps. It would not be surprising." His utter inability to sugar-coat anything was suddenly very funny, and she couldn't help but laugh. "I fail to see the humor," he commented.

That was also funny. Those were _his_ words. "Like father, like son," she felt a twinge of hatred from him and her smile faded. "I'm sorry - No offence." She paused, realizing how hopeless this all was. "You should go. He'll be back once he realizes you cut me free…"

"It would be a welcome sight. I have wandered these castle walls fruitlessly since when we parted, until now." He stood with a sigh, and stepped towards her, reaching a hand down to her to help her stand. She placed her black-gloved hands into his white-gloved ones, and let her pull her up to her feet. Surprisingly, she stayed standing.

Adrian spoke again. "I have fought my way through scores of his creatures, but I cannot find my way to the center keep."

Isabel paused, looking up at him, and thought about his comment - that he could not find his way to the center. "He doesn't want you to find him. Not yet. He knows what'll happen when he does let you through."

"How do you know this?"

"I… it's complex." _I screwed your dad and saw inside his mind._ Isabel snorted in laughter despite herself. Yeah, that would _not_ go over well. Instead, to explain her laughter, she tilted her head to the side and let him see the bite mark on her neck. "Empath. It had… weird effects."

"Ah… I am sorry."

"Not the worst thing he's done," she grumbled as she looked back to the empty and broken statue. Why was it not flowing? Maybe Adrian had truly broken it.

"What of your friends?" Adrian asked. "I have not found them."

Isabel shook her head after a moment of staring at the floor. "I can't help them… nobody can. One is a vampire, the other a… a part of the castle, now... " she didn't know how else to describe it, and she hoped he understood. "They both chose that over death. I don't think it can be undone, now."

"I am sorry for your loss."

Isabel nodded once, knowing he meant that in many more ways than just her friends. She looked up at him, and felt his sympathy, even if she did not see it on his cold features. "It's what this place does, isn't it." It was a statement. "Eat people."

"Yes."

"Why are you here? Why don't you.. Run away? Avoid all this?"

"Dracula will end the world if I do not destroy him."

"Have you tried just… talking him out of it?"

"You know not of what you speak." His harsh statement was meant to shut her up. One, she never listened to that kind of crap. And two - his darkness showed how sensitive a topic it truly was.

Isabel reached out and touched his arm, and he looked back towards her. "You have no idea what I've seen. What I've had to experience. Had to-" flashes of memories came back to her all at once, and blotted out her vision. Images of him killing Dracula. Of scores of creatures falling beneath his blade. An endless dance - an endless purgatory. For them both.

When she came back to reality, she was sitting on a bench. Adrian was kneeling in front of her, looking up at her, his gloved hands on her shoulders. "What-"

"You fainted."

Isabel let out a small breath, and fought back tears that wanted to spring to her eyes. "I'm… I'm losing my mind."

"Only if you chose to let it leave you."

Isabel looked into his pale eyes, and saw a sadness there. "You should leave here," she said to him quietly. "Go… live a life. Not like this. Not this endless cycle. If you walked out these doors, they'd let you go - I _know_ it."

Adrian shut his eyes and sighed. "This world has changed so very much… And I cannot leave my father here to wage genocide against your people."

"The first reason is bullshit and you know it. The second one, fine. I'll take that one for now, but I'm pretty sure it's also bullshit."

"Are you this argumentative with my father?"

Isabel snorted and stood up from the bench. "Worse. Way worse."

Adrian turned and walked, and she followed. He took a long pause for replying. "I see why he put you in the fountain."

Isabel was about to shout at him before she blinked. "Wait. Chuckles, was that a joke?"

"Perhaps." A glance over his shoulder with a flicker of mischief in his eyes made her laugh despite herself.

They left the garden - walking through long hallway that was decorated with antiquated electric lights and piping. Gears behind grates in the walls were fascinating - and seemed not to do a whole lot as they whirled away, turning some giant mechanism.

Isabel walked quietly behind him. Every twenty minutes or so, she'd see a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye, and she would whirl to face it - only to see nothing.

Once, when they rounded a corner - she saw a figure standing in the center of the hallway - and she turned to get a closer look… and gone. God, it was like being in a bad horror movie. It made her incredibly jumpy.

"Get behind the column," Adrian ordered. Turning back around she saw a pack of demons down the hall from them, snarling - drool oozing from fanged teeth as glowing green eyes illuminated the hallway.

Isabel didn't argue and ducked behind a column as he charged forward, sword out. Isabel watched as he deftly avoided their attacks. He was a blur of motion as he took them down to pieces. The demons burned to ash as they died, leaving nothing but ash in their wake. Isabel walked up to him, as he put his sword back in the sheath.

"That - well - shit. Half ballet, half badass," she shook her head. She had never seen anything like it - Tex would have been entirely embarrassed at how ridiculously outclassed he would have been.

Adrian's lips quirked into a small smile, and then a grimace of pain as he hissed - his fangs showing for the first time as he doubled over in pain.

Isabel stepped forward quickly, as he reached towards his back and fell to his knees. Stepping around him - a demon's claw had made it through his defences and was now… embedded in his back.

"Oh. Fuck. Um. Hold still."

"What?!"

"I need to pull it out, right?"

"No."

"Okay, sure, asshole-" she put her hands on her hips. "I'll just leave it there, and you can pull it out yourself. Or maybe it'll just _go away on its own,"_ she grumbled. "Stubborn idiot."

The young vampire shut his eyes, realizing that no, there was no other option. Adrian let out a low, disgruntled sigh. "Try not to do more damage."

"Would you prefer I leave it in there?!" She smacked him on the back of the head, and he let out a startled 'unf' and glared up at her, shock in his eyes. "Don't be a lunk."

"I-" Adrian stammered once then stopped. Shaking his head, he looked back down at the ground. Isabel smiled to herself - greatly enjoying baffling the weird man. "Make it quick," he muttered.

"Ja wohl, mein heir," she said with a bad German accent and grabbed the end of the claw with both hands. She gave it an exploratory tug - and Adrian hissed loudly in pain. And it hadn't budged. "Sorry-sorry-" Isabel put her knee against his back, and braced herself. "Ready?"

Adrian nodded once.

"On three."

He nodded again.

"One-" She yanked on it as hard as she could, and she tore the sharpened dagger-like claw out of his back. He howled in pain, pounding his fist into the ground. Isabel staggered with the action/reaction of the motion and landed on her ass.

Adrian had one hand over his eyes, the other flat against the ground. Isabel watched, fascinated, as his skin began to stitch itself together like nothing had happened. "What happened to 'two' and 'three?'" he muttered under his breath.

"They're for pansies," Isabel chimed as she climbed back to her feet. "Always do it on one. Old rule we had."

"Who?"

"My friends and I…"

"Ah." Adrian stood up as well, and stretched his back. His clothing must have been… magic, or something - as it stitched itself back together as well. How convenient. _Well, if you get torn up for a hobby, it's better than wandering around looking like a hobo…_

"Next time," he added. "I believe I would like the benefit of the other numbers."

"Two jokes - one day. Are you feeling okay?"

Adrian turned to continue their trek down the hallway. "Perhaps the solitude has finally driven me insane," he said over her shoulder.

"Three!" she said with a smile. His company and their pointless banter kept the memories at bay - kept the feeling of fire boiling her flesh from rising up and pulling at her mind. Kept the shadows out of the edges of her vision.

And so, she followed him - her only hope of getting out of here 'alive.' If insane. Her heart felt heavy at the thought of what would happen to her, if the memories took hold her permanently. She had stared down that pit before, and it was a terrifying end - and that was before she had a few thousand fresh memories of vicious ends floating in her mind. "Hey, Adrian? I uh… I have a favor to ask."

"You did not call me 'Chuckles,' so I assume this is a serious request."

"You also _almost_ smiled once, so I'm giving you a break," she quipped, avoiding the favor she wanted to ask and wanted _not_ to at the same time. He walked in silence, not prying. Finally, she pulled the band aid off. "If this gets… bad enough. If I lose my mind, or if I do something awful…"

He stopped walking, and turned to face her in one movement, his long blond hair falling about his face, shrouding his features. He liked to do that - keep his face hidden. She wondered why? But he looked at her, intently, and placed a hand on her bare shoulder. Isabel was happy he had gloves.

"I will do what must be done…" he promised her. And left it at that. Good, she didn't really want to get into the details. He turned, and they resumed walking in silence.

* * *

"We must find another way through," Adrian commented to his forlorn companion as he peered at the strange puzzle door. The strange disks and combination of keys and locks had nearly an infinite number of potential solutions. He did not know the order, so it was pointless (and likely dangerous, as these things often triggered deadly traps) to fiddle with it in hope of stumbling across the answer.

Isabel stepped forward towards the door, and began removing her black gloves. He watched her, curiously. "What do you intend to do?"

"Find the solution."

"I wouldn't recommend-"

"My touch works on more than just people," she replied without looking at him, focused on the metal gate in front of her.

That made little sense to him. Objects did not have emotions. "I do not think-"

"'Things' have memories just as anything else does. Shush and let me do my thing. This is at least… normal for me." As her bare hands touched the metal door, she shut her eyes. She tilted her head to the side slightly, and the pained expression that she wore smoothed. Whatever she was seeing - or perhaps the act of seeing alone - was a distraction from the torment that his father had levied on the poor girl that seemed to haunt her every step.

In the silence created by what his companion was experiencing, it allowed him to ponder her nature. An empath - one that could not be touched. Whose constant existence was either lost in isolation, or a torrent of the lives of others. He pitied her. Many creatures would have chosen death over what she instead endured.

And now - with countless thousand deaths playing themselves out in her mind - perhaps death would be a kindness. Adrian could not bring himself to do the deed - at least not yet. Not when she seemed to cling to threads of sanity.

Adrian was not a sentimental creature. When he had been a child, he had been 'blessed with the coldness of the ancients' as his vampiric tutor once said. Now, he was not heartless - but he never allowed himself the luxury of 'living.'

Her plea to him to leave the castle - to turn away from this quest and save himself from this endless fate - had surprised him. In every instance of his many years, he had been begged by the humans to save them from his father. Pleas for assistance, not abandonment.

Isabel opened her eyes and smiled faintly. She covered her hands with her gloves, and deftly worked the locking mechanisms with a confidence that could have belied that she had built the machine herself. Clearly, as that was not the case, she must have… seen how to unlock it? Were those memories now part of hers as well? How many thousands of years of existence lived inside that mortal frame?

The large mechanism released with a 'ka-clunk' - and the giant metal door swung open with a rusty creak.

Isabel turned to look at him and beamed a bright smile. "Tah-dah!"

How she could find a moment of triumph in the face of what she endured was unknown to him. In the face of such resilience, he could only smile back at her.

* * *

Isabel was sitting in the corner of a library, propped up against a bookcase. They had walked for hours, fighting monsters and creatures she had no names for. Every time, she would duck out of the way. Every time, the monsters ignored her existence like she wasn't even there. Sometimes they might glance at her - but never did they come near her.

Isabel might have wondered _why -_ she was easy prey and all - but the answer was clear. They had marching orders from the Boss himself. Nobody touch.

Adrian was asleep - she didn't even know he slept - leaning against a bookcase himself. He had cast some sort of spell that he said would keep them safe. Isabel should rest - god knows her eyes burned, she was so tired.

But the thought of closing her eyes terrified her. The thought of going back into her mind and finding what was nesting there made her want to throw up. So, she stayed awake. Something flitted around at the edge of her vision, and she looked up. This time, the movement was real - or… mostly.

A ghost hovered at the edge of the circle that Adrian had cast. It was an empty-eyed thing from a horror movie. It had once been a man - and his tattered finery hung from him like a rendition of A Christmas Carol. Isabel stood up - not sure if she wanted to run away, or approach.

The ghost reached out a hand to her - and she could feel its longing. It's emptiness. But it was a broken thing, only knowing how to wander and hunger.

Isabel stepped towards the ghost slowly, reaching the edge of the circle and not daring to take a step further.

"Isabel?" she heard from behind her. Adrian.

"Can you see it?"

"No…"

"A ghost… I don't- I don't know if it's really there, or if…" she let herself trail off, knowing the rest was pointless.

"Can you normally see them?"

"No. Maybe sense them from time to time, when they had flares of emotions. But normal doesn't count anymore. Not here." The ghost beaconed her closer, and she shook her head no. "I won't. Go away," she commanded. And to her shock, it took a step back into the darkness and faded away.

Isabel was trembling, and she looked back at the vampire who still sat with his back against the wall. "You should sleep," he advised.

She shook her head. "I don't know if I can…"

"If you are not mad already," he shut his eyes. "You will be, if you deprive yourself for long enough."

Isabel sat back down, and laid down on the ground, a book under her head, looking up at the painted scenery of the ornate ceiling. Fear and exhaustion warred through her in equal parts, and eventually, sleep won out.

* * *

Adrian awoke with a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him. He woke up quickly, his hand flying to his sword. But a hand on his chest stopped him from standing. Looking up, it was Isabel - but something about her seemed… wrong.

Her face wore an expression that he had not known her to wear. It was not strange or horrifying - but the look about her was _off._

"I am sorry to wake you," she spoke in an accent that was not hers. "But it is just so good to see you again, my friend."

That voice - he knew that manner of speaking. "Sypha… no. It cannot be. You are not here."

"This place takes a piece of everyone who walks through it's doors. A piece of me - of all of us will always be here. Always be here with you."

Adrian shook his head. "You're lying. You are _not_ her."

"No - but I remember being Sypha. It is likely, that I am a spirit who has taken on her memories… But I came to tell you something."

Adrian narrowed his eyes, his hand on the hilt of his sword. If he hurt her - he would be hurting Isabel, not the spirit who had taken control.

"I beg you to leave here. I fear this time will be different, Adrian - I fear this time you will die in these walls."

His 'friend' was long dead. And yet this poor girl echoed her voice like it was true. Adrian reached forward, and grasping the girl by both shoulders, shook her hard. "Isabel, wake up!"

That seemed to snap her out of it - and she let out a low shriek and pushed away from him, falling backwards, eyes wide with terror. She was shaking, and she wrapped her arms around herself. "Oh god… Oh god… what happened?"

"I do not know." Adrian sat up, and took his coat from the ground, and slung it around her shoulders. He left his hands there, looking down at her, concerned. "You were not… yourself."

Isabel nodded weakly. "I… felt like the backseat driver in a car. I don't… I'm so sorry."

"It is not your doing," he reminded her. Poor creature… what had his father done? Why? For his sick pleasure? "We should go… if you are able. I do not think either of us will sleep much more this night."

* * *

Isabel followed behind Adrian as they seemed to endlessly roam from wing of the castle to wing of the castle. If anything, she was getting the grand tour of Dracula's murder palace.

Adrian didn't bring up what had happened the night before - he seemed… spooked was the wrong word - put off by what had happened. Isabel remembered it, but she hadn't been driving. Something had taken over, woken her up and used her to communicate with the vampire. It hadn't seemed violent - it hadn't meant any harm, but still… Isabel didn't exactly appreciate being used like a rental car.

It was the first time anything had ever 'possessed' her - and she knew it was because of her time in the fountain. There was no way it was a coincidence. Just like all the ghosts in the god-forsaken fountain had used her to play out their last moments - this spirit had used her all the same.

One more wing, and they found themselves inside what looked like some kind of bizarre music… hall. The whole thing looked like a messed up calliope. When she was younger, she had gone to House on the Rock in Wisconsin on a vacation. But here, the twisted and tangled mess of instruments hid the danger that lurked there. Adrian seemed never off his guard, and many nightmarish creatures comprised of pieces of instruments and humans, or possessed creatures met their ends at his blade.

Another corner, and they were at a massive door with a large, intricate… cross emblazoned upon it. Isabel blinked - a cross? Here? Adrian sighed, lowered his head, and seemed reluctant to walk forward.

"What's wrong?"

"A friend resides here. I do not wish to fight him."

The priest. She remembered him - Lyon, was it? "Then let's not… We can find another way."

"I must."

"You 'must' not do anything," she pushed him in the back - it barely budged him, but the action convinced him to turn and look at her for the first time all day. "Adrian. Your sense of duty is really admirable, but you're just Sisyphus pushing a fucking rock. Don't you get it?"

"I 'get' it," he replied, pointedly using her crass use of the english language, even if it felt stunted and awkward. "But it must be done."

Isabel went to open her mouth, but she was cut off as the two giant doors swung open with a loud creak. The two turned to look into the church, and saw the tall, angular figure standing in the center aisle.

"Hello, Adrian…"

Dracula's son walked forward into the church, pulling his sword from the sheath. Isabel had a choice - stay out in the hallway, or… follow. Swearing at herself, she followed after him. The doors slammed shut behind her, and she nearly leapt out of her skin as they did.

"It has been some time," Lyon spoke from where he stood in front of the altar.

"So it has, Priest." Adrian had come to a stop ten feet in front of him, sword at the ready.

Lyon seemed uninterested in fighting him, his hands still folded behind his back like a gentleman, making his thin, tall frame look even taller. "I would kindly ask… that you continue your quest, and leave her with me."

Adrian stood his ground. "I will not."

Lyon sighed, and unfolded his arms from behind him. "We have never fought, you and I, in all these years."

"I do not enjoy the prospect."

"Neither do I." The priest held his hands in front of him, and she watched as golden armor appeared around his hands in the shape of clawed armor. He readied himself for the fight. "Please. Leave here."

"Not without her."

"You know not her fate," Lyon was almost pleading with Adrian now - a look of pain on his marble features. "You cannot save her."

"I see her fate plainly. Father hides his intentions poorly. And yet, I must try," Adrian nearly whispered back.

What happened next was hard for Isabel to track. Flurry of motion - clashing of metal on metal. A blur of violence. Adrian would land a blow, and then Lyon would land another - sending Adrian smashing through a wooden pew. Isabel tried to hide close to the wall, but nowhere seemed safe. So she kept trying to dodge their fight, unsure of where the two would land.

Lyon hurtled across the room from a blow by the younger vampire, and smashed into a stone statue. He fell, and picked himself up from the ground. "You fight well, young Master," Lyon said with a faint smile.

"As do you, old friend."

The battle resumed. A flurry of preternatural speed, whirring blades and claws. Isabel had taken up hiding in a doorway close to the front.

Lyon had torn Adrian's sword from his hand and sent it skittering across the floor, under a pew. He threw the younger vampire against the stairs, and she heard a snap as Adrian's back broke against the stone, and he snarled in pain. He was bleeding from cuts along his chest, his arms, his back... The priest was bleeding as well, but he was the one still standing.

"End it," Adrian hissed from where he lay.

Lyon walked up, sadness across his features, golden claws ready for an attack at any moment. The priest raised his hand, ready to tear Adrian's throat open. "Forgive me," he asked quietly of the man before him.

Adrian nodded once, and shut his eyes. Lyon pulled his arm back, and swung for the kill - but the blow never fell.

Isabel had run from the shadows, and stood between the two, her arms out. "Don't-" she begged.

Lyon, confused, looked down at the young girl who now stood in his path, and stilled his death blow in mid-stroke. He had nearly ended her - his golden claws hovering only inches from her. "That was foolish," he muttered.

"He saved my life… only fair I save his in return," she looked up at the pale priest intently, although her wavering voice belied her fear. She was pretty sure the vampire Priest had the reaction time to stop - but only _pretty_ sure.

The priest lowered his hand, with a sigh. "I cannot harm you, and you know that."

"I figured."

"Lord Dracula has asked I return you to his safety. You are not well, and he wishes you under his protection."

"I'm not 'well' because of what _he did,_ " Isabel snapped angrily, then sighed. The priest hadn't done anything to her. "But, fine. Let him live… and I'll go with you."

"Isabel-" Adrian interjected, and she looked over her shoulder at him.

"I'm already as good as dead… and you're not. If you die here, you'll never leave. I can't let someone else suffer that fate."

Adrian rolled to his side, and she heard a sickening _snap_ as he tried to put himself back together. The blond vampire gagged in pain. "I will find you… I will stop him."

Isabel winced in sympathy, and looked up at Lyon. If she didn't take the priest from here, he would kill Adrian. There was only choice in front of her. "You found me. So take me back."

Lyon sighed, deeply. He looked at her, piteous of her sacrifice, and his golden claws vanished from his hands. He reached a hand out to her. "Take my hand, let me bring you back to where you may sleep in peace." He held his hand out to her.

"Another load of bullshit. I'm afraid to close my eyes..."

"I know…"

She placed her hand in his, and she felt the feeling of the world drifting out from under her. Dracula traveled by fire - Lyon by mist, it seemed. When the world reformed, she found herself standing back in the quarters that Dracula had kept depositing her.

Isabel walked to a chair, and slumped into it, putting her head in her hands. It had felt nice, being around Adrian and feeling freedom - even if it was a false hope. Wandering around the hamster ball of a castle didn't count as freedom. Isabel finally spoke - and hoped he would know the answer to a question that had been bugging her. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course." She heard him move past her - and then a clink of glassware. She looked up as a glass hovered near her - he was handing her water. God, she was thirsty… she hadn't realize how much so, until now. Taking the crystal highball glass, she forced herself to sip the liquid and not chug it, as she had learned once the hard way how bad of an idea that was.

"How long was I… in that fountain…?

"Three days. Another day asleep after he pulled you from the fountain before you awoke."

Isabel lowered her head and ran a hand through her hair - digging her fingers in, and pulled - almost painfully so, wanting to feel the pain to bring her back to where she really was, and who she really was. Not the visions that crashed through her mind as she thought about the _three days_ she spent living in the torment of others.

Strung out on a rack - arms and legs spread eagle - a creature that looked more machine than man, pulling away the flesh from his ribs. Pushing thin, hollow metal rods like needles into his organs. Strange liquid pumping into him - the burning, oh god… days of burning, days of crying for death, before it finally came for him.

Isabel pulled hard on her hair again, and let out a wavering breath as the vision cleared. "I don't think I'm.. I'm okay…"

"It is alright," the priest tried to console her, and moved to sit next to her. "You have every right to… be confused."

"I don't feel confused," she snapped. "I feel like I've lost my mind," she said, her voice wavering.

"The insane do not think they are so," he advised. That brought her up from her hunched over position, and turned her head to look at him. His marble countenance was unnaturally still as he sat there. "They believe their world is reality - that they are not insane. You, therefore, cannot be."

Isabel closed her eyes and felt the tears flow from her cheeks. "They're like ghosts in my mind. I keep seeing it, even though-"

He reached out to touch her - to console her, and she recoiled from him. "Don't- please." She was still in the halter top, and he had no gloves.

"Ah," he lowered his hand. "I forgot, forgive me." Lyon stood up slowly, looking down at her mildly. "Are you able to rest at all? Lord Dracula wishes-"

"I don't give a _fuck-_ "

"-that you rest, now that you are safe," he finished.

"No. I can't. I can't pretend like-" another of flicker of motion out of the corner of her eye, and she turned. Nothing. But she felt something there - some _one_ \- hovering in the corners like fog. What did she keep seeing? More ghosts? She turned back to Lyon, who had followed her gaze but also saw nothing. "I can't pretend like he didn't do this. That I don't have these… memories. Last time I tried to sleep, I woke up possessed by a spirit."

"As absurd as this may sound, given your current condition," Lyon preambled. "I believe his intention is to keep you safe from harm."

Isabel laughed hard - a bray of laughter that she felt both as a release and a self-condemnation of her situation. "You're right. That does sound absurd." Pity crossed his sculpted features, and she felt him wish he could do something for her. "Why? Why do you care?" she burst out. Guilt hit her immediately, not having wished to throw it in his face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" she looked out at the garden and the empty fountain. "This place is unfriendly enough without making a mockery of someone who…" she trailed off.

"I take no offence, and I understand your confusion. It is my nature, I am afraid. I dislike seeing the suffering of others."

"You picked the wrong place to be."

"I had no choice in the matter."

She looked up at him, and felt his story flitter beneath the surface. It was too long, too convoluted for her to catch the details - but she knew he was trapped here, like everyone else. Part of this place… until it ceased to be, or the earth burned away.

"Does Dracula own this place? Or does it own him?"

Lyon smiled sadly in response. "I do not know. I do not believe he does, either. I must ask you something - I do not know the extent of which your gift has allowed you access to our Lord's history-"

"He's _not my lord-_ "

He continued again, unphased. "But have you ever known him to inflict suffering without reason?"

Isabel sighed, and turned from him to glare at the wall. That flicker of movement appeared in her vision again, and she resisted the urge to look for something she knew wouldn't be there. "What I said wasn't worth this… I didn't deserve this."

"I never said you did. But that does not mean this was done without cause."

"What was the reason, then?" Isabel glared at him. "Tell me then, if you know, why he did this to me. Why I can't - I can't stop feeling like there's a rope around my neck or a knife in my ribs, or-" she trailed off again, panic forming at the edges and threatening to overtake her. Shutting her eyes, she forced herself to take a deep breath - forced those feelings away.

"I cannot tell you, my lady - that is for his disclosure, not mine." Lyon seemed honestly sorry he couldn't tell her more.

"You're ancient… you have thousands of years of memories. Thousands of years of loss, of love, of pain and happiness. How do you cope? How do any of you cope?"

"Many of us are driven mad and lack the strength to last the years. In some, all feeling drifts away and they become empty, unfeeling. Some… become tyrants, madmen wishing to wreak their pain upon the world. I myself do not know which I am. But, I persist. I try to do what I can, when allowed."

Isabel felt that it wasn't common that he spoke so much. She was somewhat flattered. "In my mind, I have.. I have countless memories that aren't mine. But they might as well be. They're as real to me as your memories are to you. We are what our context makes us. What has happened to us. 'If every moment connects the next, then every moment affects you.'" She paused, and felt panic well up in her again. There was no way to remove the memories - no way to forget them. She didn't even truly know how many there were. "I don't know what to do.."

"Rest," Lyon advised, standing from where he sat. "I will take my leave of you, with your permission, my lady. I feel as though you wish to be alone."

Isabel folded her arms across her chest, and looked down at the ground. God, she was so tired… but sleep was a terrifying notion. Either way, she was no good company. Nodding once, Lyon bowed at the waist and disappeared.

A thought occurred to her as she remembered something. There was bourbon.

Thank god for bourbon.


	12. Chapter 12

**Thanks so much for all the reviews! Here's the next installment. I'm trying to turn them out once a week if possible. Enjoy!**

* * *

Hours passed, and nothing happened. Well, not true - not _exactly_ nothing.

'Sitting,' 'staring off into the middle distance' and 'drinking' counted as 'something' in a literal sense. Although none of it did anything to occupy her mind. Even less to distract her from the figures she saw standing in the bathroom or the bedroom as she turned her head. Each time, there was no one there.

So, then, she started to pace. If she sat still in the chair for too long, she'd fall asleep. And that was no longer an option. Not with the ghosts that haunted her vision and threatened to take over her body if she let down her guard. Isabel paced, circling the room. Trying the door - locked, no luck. Windows - locked, no luck. Door again - locked, no luck, and so on.

What did it really matter anyway? Where would she go if she _could_ get out of the room? The castle was a semi-sentient maze - and it wouldn't let her anywhere it didn't want to let her go. The futility of the situation didn't help her rising anxiety.

It was on circuit forty - or forty-two, she had honestly lost count - that something was out of place. Something that wasn't there before. And this time, _for real._

Isabel stood in the open door of the bedroom of where she had been deposited. 'Her quarters' the priest had called it. Isabel took offense at that - it made it sound like she lived here. She may _die_ here, but she did not _live_ here.

Regardless - there on the bed, placed at the foot, was a guitar.

That hadn't been there before.

Hadn't it?

Isabel sighed. She was going crazy, how could she really be sure? Walking into the room, she looked down at the acoustic instrument and tilted her head slightly. It was a nice, quality piece. But why?

Oh right. The memory that Dracula had dragged her through - he had seen her play guitar for her friends in the C5 plane traveling back from the middle east. He had learned that she played, even if her 'skill' was accidental and by no merit of her own.

Fuck it. Pacing was boring. And she was exhausted. And a little drunk. And doing anything but staring or pacing was starting to sound phenomenal. It would be a nice distraction from the movement she kept seeing flickering in the edges of her vision.

Picking up the guitar, she walked back to the center 'living room' and flopped down in the chair in which she had taken up residence. With a strum, she began to tune the strings. After a few moments, she began strumming a slow tune. She hummed for a verse, then grinned as she started to remember the lyrics. " _On a gathering storm comes a tall handsome man - in a dusty black coat and a red right hand."_

Isabel laughed, and kept strumming the strings as she sung. " _He's a god, he's a man, he's a ghost, he's a guru. They're whispering his name through this disappearing land - but hidden in his coat is a red right hand."_

Nick Cave seemed like a fitting soundtrack to her life right now, and she played out the rest of the song, humming or whistling along with the tune as she went. She didn't remember all the verses - it had been a long time since she had played this one. After a while, she switched tunes and then to another, moving her way through the songs, happy to have something to do to take her mind off what loomed in her mind. Suddenly, she saw a figure out of the corner of her eye. But this time, it seemed to be walking _towards_ her.

Isabel whirled - her heart pounding in her ears as adrenaline rushed through her system like the flick of a switch. But no one was there. She squeezed her eyes shut tight for a moment, trying to force it out of her mind. They aren't real. They aren't there. You're hallucinating because of your exhaustion.

Isabel focused again on strumming the chords, finding a new tune. There was the movement, again - standing beside her. A head whirl, and nothing. "Fuck you," she snarled at the nothingness that was there. This game was getting old.

So instead she decided to try and ignore it. Every time there was a flicker or the thought that someone might be standing near her - she dutifully didn't look, and instead sipped the bourbon. Hence, the disappearance of the liquid. Sometimes she could feel a presence - feel the flicker of an emotion or a thought, but it was evasive and strange.

Great. This was going to be a new thing, apparently. Seeing ghosts. Isabel wondered if it was permanent. She also wondered how long 'permanence' really was in her case. Before either insanity, death, or both took her.

God, she was so tired… All she wanted to do was sleep. But now, even that had been taken away from her as a safe place. Ever since she had set foot in this castle - ever since she had met that fucking corpse of a vampire in the crypt, she had lost the privacy of her own mind.

She strummed away, barely paying attention to what she was playing as she mulled.

Speaking of said vampire - Isabel sighed, and sunk further into her chair. What the hell to do with _that_ scenario.

What was it, between them? He was her captor, her tormenter, the only person she had ever really touched - and now, her one-time lover, it seemed. Dracula had abducted her friends, turned them into willing monsters - and now kept her prisoner. She should hate him - but when he was near her, when she could feel his mind so close to hers, it was difficult to keep that feeling intact. Fear was easy enough to cling to in his presence, at least.

What was she to him? A man that was _at least_ four millennia old, who had worn a thousand faces with a thousand names, had to get unimaginably bored. In that way, she supposed she wasn't surprised that he would adopt playthings and eat through them until they were tattered and spent.

Literally.

But something didn't add up. She had played into his hands at the banquet - lost her temper and allowed him a public rationale to torture her. But why did he need any excuse to do anything? The King of the Night didn't need reasons to wreak havoc - why was she any different?

A flicker of motion beside her, and she growled low in her throat. This again. Her being alone - never mind her pretty-damn-fluffy-but-not-fall-down-drunk state - made it perfectly acceptable to yell at the shadow that wasn't there. Her fingers stilled on the strings, and she shut her eyes. "Quit the bullshit," she called out at the nothingness that haunted the edges of her vision. "You're just being annoying."

"I have yet to even speak - I find that rather uncalled for."

Isabel lept to her feet - whirled, and in one motion threw the guitar at the offending voice and nearly fell over an end table. She staggered to catch her footing, and fixed her best accusatorial glare at the black and crimson shadow looming by a wall, holding the guitar where he had caught it easily in midair. He raised an eyebrow at her, and placed the book on a table.

She hadn't heard the roar of fire that announced his arrival. "I didn't hear you-" The 'lightbulb' that switched on in her mind was almost palpable. "Wait. You do the jet of fire _for fun?!_ You egotistical, _officious douchebag!"_ she shouted at him.

"Not inaccurate," he replied. "Although I do not understand the noun, I am certain to be happier not knowing." Dracula stepped forward, and Isabel took two steps back in rapid fashion. He sighed like he was dealing with a child.

"Don't you fucking sigh at me-" she snarled at him. "You don't get to be annoyed about _anything_."

"Oh?"

"Get out. Leave me alone. If you aren't here to kill me, then leave."

"No." Now he almost looked amused.

She picked up her empty glass and hurled it at his head, wanting to wipe the smirk off his face. He caught it easily and without any effort. Isabel huffed angrily, feeling very small and helpless. There was no way she could hurt him - no way she could make him _do_ anything. Although a reminder that she was his prisoner wasn't needed, he had pointed it out regardless.

"Go away," she growled again.

"I do what I please," Dracula replied flatly, placing the glass on the table with a tink.

Anger rose up in her - and she wanted to scream at him, to punch him - to do anything. "How _dare_ you-" He turned to look at her with those red eyes, hearing her thoughts, and the cruelty there sent her anger crumbling into fear.

Dracula took another step forward, and she staggered backwards again. Another movement from him, and she backed up into a piece of furniture. Isabel knew she had nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. If he wanted to pull her skin from her bones, he could. If he wanted to put her back into the fountain, he could. If he wanted to make her relive every death and vision of horror that she had seen by playing it out with her in the real world… he could.

Seeing motion out of the corner of her eye - she turned, and saw nothing. "God _fucking damn it,"_ she swore. First Dracula shows up, and now more of the 'ghosts' in her vision. Unable to handle the flood of emotions that tore through her, tears welled up in her eyes. This must be what a breakdown feels like, she decided.

Isabel put her head in her hands - unable to look at him, unable to handle any of what she felt. "I think you've destroyed me. I really do."

"Tell me what you see."

Why did he give a fuck? But fine. Simple question, less-than-simple answer. "I have… thousands of memories of dying inside my mind. All of them - and none of them - are mine. But I remember ever cut - every spark of fire, every blow, every cut of rope and knife and... And that's not even all of it. Ever since you put me in there, I see things out of the corner of my eye - I feel something hovering at the edges, but I know they're not really there. Ghosts. One of them fucking _took over my mind_ yesterday. This is _your fault._ You've done this to me… I wish you would just kill me."

A long pause followed before he replied. "No."

Anger took over again as the new predominant emotion. She stormed up to him and struck him hard across the face, slapping him. He let his head turn with the blow, but she was positive it had barely stung him. "Then tell me _why_ ," she hissed.

Vlad turned his head back to hers, and said nothing. Isabel snarled, and when she went to strike him again, he caught her wrist in his hand. Another attempted blow, another wrist. He looked down at her with what could have been dismay, but it faded quickly into his dour coldness.

"Why won't you tell me?!"

"You will not understand."

" _I am a fucking empath!"_ she screamed, losing her temper. " _All I do is understand!"_ She tried to pull out of his grasp, but he held her tight. "All I am is a fucking dumping ground for everyone's bullshit emotions and memories - and now this?! You made me see all of their pain - all of their deaths, all of their _suffering,_ " she raged. "All of it's mine now. All of it lives inside _my_ head - and you won't even fucking tell me _why?!_ You've taken everything from me - you've destroyed everything I have ever loved, you've taken away the safety of my own mind, and you won't even give me the reason! I will _not_ accept that!"

With that, the throttle that had gone from zero to sixty fell back empty again, and she felt the tears pour down her cheeks as a sob racked her body. She yanked on his grasp, and this time he let her go. She turned away from him, embarrassed by her tears and wishing desperately he would leave her be. She pressed her gloves to her eyes, blotting the tears as best she could, though her hands were shaking.

"Go away," she ordered him.

Silence was all that followed. But he was still there - she could feel his presence like a cloud in the room.

"You spared my son," Dracula finally spoke.

Isabel snorted. What a stupid way to say it. "I stopped the priest if that's what you mean. But I highly doubt he would've killed Adrian anyway."

"He was under orders to do so."

"I don't buy that, but fine. Then why did he stop?"

"He was also under orders to retrieve you."

"Why?!" Isabel rounded, glaring at him. "Why? So you could put me back in that _fucking_ fountain?"

Dracula paused, his face cold and unreadable. "No."

"You missed the first question. You have a hard time with that word, don't you? I asked you _why?_ "

"You were not safe with Adrian."

Isabel snorted again and then laughed hard, a sarcastic and mean laugh, pointed mostly at her own situation. Isabel looked at him now like _he_ was the one who had lost his mind. "You're kidding me. You've got to be fucking kidding me. I wasn't safe with _Adrian?_ That's rich. Listen to me very carefully, vampire-" she didn't know where she summoned the strength turn her anger cold and vicious. "Adrian pulled me from the fountain, where _you_ put me. He is here to stop _you,_ because when you _both_ lost your wife, you decided to make it all about _your_ loss. You drove him away in your stupid, blind hatred. The day or two I spent wandering around with him was the safest I've felt since I've been here as _your prisoner."_

She felt a flare of something in him - anger? No. Not anger - even better. She laughed again, and shook her head. "You're _jealous._ Why, because he's the 'good' guy? Because he's the righteous, 'lovable' one? Please. I know you two haven't actually _met_ recently - but he's just fucked as you are. How many times have you gone through this cycle with him? Neither changing, neither budging or bucking the trend. He's an idiot, and you're an asshole."

"Are you quite finished?" Dracula was the cold, impassive wall once more. But it was fake this time, she could sense it. She had hit a button.

"No!" Isabel clenched her fists. "What're you going to do? Lock me away to protect me from _everyone but you?_ Maybe put me back in the fountain? Good. I won't survive it this time. At least then I won't keep seeing these ghosts - keep seeing all this _death_ inside my head!" Tears began to well up in her eyes, as her anger began to crumble. Fear that this was the truth of her life, now. "At least then I won't have to deal with _you._ I don't care- I can't even-"

Her knees almost gave out underneath her. She was so tired… so sick of fighting, so sick of trying to keep her mind intact. Her limbs felt weak, like they were barely her own, and all she wanted to do was sleep. To make it all go away.

She slumped onto the sofa, leaning heavily on the arm, putting her head in her hands. Although he was silent, he approached her. His nearness made her skin buzz like an electrical charge. Isabel refused to look - but realized she could not outwait an immortal. With a sigh, she looked up. He was standing in front of her, red eyes passive and cold as they were fixed on her.

He held out his hand for her to take it, and she wanted to do so many things at once - laugh, scream, swear, cry - but nothing happened. Every emotion at once tried to cram through a bottleneck, and so nothing came out the other side.

"Come willingly or I _will_ drag you," he said with a small, cynical curl of his lips.

Isabel let out a long, hard sigh, and put her hand in his. He pulled her to standing. "Where are we-" the fire burst around her, and she finished her sentence with a wince, now standing on the other side. "-going."

His sharp nails ran along her jawline, and the tips of his fingers tilted her head up to look at his. "You have half an hour," he said coldly down at her, and spoke again, much quieter. "Remember that I do this for you." He took two steps back, and was gone in another roar of fire that made her shield her eyes with her arm.

Looking around - she knew this place. A cavernous tower, reaching higher than could be seen in the darkness. Now, instead of only whirling gears and spinning machinery… wires ran up through the darkness, blinking LEDs dotted the darkness like a server panel or a router. She stood on the same platform that she had last seen Eric - mid process of being swallowed by the castle itself.

Isabel didn't know what she was expecting - but what she saw made her heart ache more than she thought was possible in her current state.

Eric had dragged her to see the 'Pirates of the Caribbean' movies on opening night. He was a Keira Knightley fan (read: he had the hots for her,) and fine - Jack sparrow was funny. And cute. The second and third movies had undead sailors that had become a part of the reef that had overgrown the ship they served.

The sailors had become a seamless part of the organic and haphazard construction around them - finding themselves now more at home amongst the barnacles and reef than the world of living men.

Eric now resembled one of them. More circuitry than man. Part of the technology around him. Chunks of PCBs, extruded aluminum and hydraulic fittings, clicking servos and pistons took the place of nerves, muscle, sinew and bone. It broke her heart - tears stung her eyes and she wiped them away before they could fall.

Eric lifted his head - and his eyes lit up as he broke into a smile - his lips blackened and oozing with whatever oily substance was being pumped in and out of his body.

Isabel had once seen a man whose lung had been punctured and he had coughed up blood - and it was exactly like they do in the movies. The man's lips had been stained red with fluid. Much like Eric's was now, except black and unnatural.

"Izzy!" Eric exclaimed happily. He shifted, and pulled his... limbs... from the wall that had seemed to be eating him alive. Eric pulled himself free, but his gait was stunted and awkward - as his legs were no longer flesh at all. Where he had been consumed by the wall, Eric was only metal and machinery. He lacked a left arm almost entirely - only a stump remained at the shoulder. The right resembled his legs, metal and circuit boards, wires and black goop that leaked from where he was still clearly a 'work in progress.'

Isabel tried not to feel sick. Tried not to recoil in horror. This was still her friend... mostly. Maybe. "Hey," she finally responded.

"I know I know. I look like a mess. It's a long process, y'know," Eric looked down at himself. "The castle works slowly. It doesn't understand the modern age of 'instant gratification.'"

Isabel raised an eyebrow. "No offence… You look like shit."

"Hah! Yeah, I bet I do," he looked down at his stump of a left arm, and shrugged. "But I feel great. "

"I'm with her, you look like shit," another familiar voice said as a figure approached. Adam. Isabel smiled faintly at him - and reminded herself that although he looked more human, his corruption by the castle was just as pervasive as Eric's.

"It's a reunion! Shit, I'd clap if I had two hands!" Eric exclaimed happily and Isabel and Adam both laughed. Even barely resembling himself, the nerd had a great comedic sense.

"Except Tex," Isabel reminded the three of them. The three of them stood in silence for a moment, remembering their good friend. "Always gotta be the buzzkill."

"Hey-" Eric interjected, changing the topic. "So... gotta say, this is kinda awesome. But why're we all here?"

"I don't know," Isabel said with a sigh. Yes, she did - she suspected she did anyway. Dracula was playing more games.

"I was told to come here - or else. A very large… very toothy demon took me here before I could even open my mouth," Adam grumbled. "I was busy."

"Doing what, screwing Carmilla?" Isabel said with a smirk.

"No-" Adam said, but his features flushed pink. "I was researching. This place has a… an incredible library. Several of them, actually. The knowledge that is here is _astounding._ So many things here just… defy modern science."

"So, one of you finally gets to run around all eternity popping a science boner," Isabel walked to a crate, and sat down on it. She was too tired to stand. "The other one gets to be living hardware. It really sounds like you two… got quite a deal."

Adam laughed once, and looked off into the darkness of the clocktower. "I'm scared out of my mind, Iz. I really am. I had a choice to make - this or death. I was a coward and chose this. I'm trying my best to make sense of this new existence. Every moment feels like a bad dream, that this can't be reality. Like if someone were to call you and say your house burned down with your entire family inside… And now, I have to… drink blood." He made a face. "And worst part is, I like it."

"You're just a pussy," Eric grumbled. "This is awesome." The black-veined eyes of her friend looked to her. "Y'know he let me pick?" Eric did his best to limp-walk up to the crate - although there was an umbilical of wires and tubing that dragged behind him. He sat down to the left of her, his back half to her. "He said he was grateful, for us finding him. For us waking him up. Even if we didn't mean to, he owes us. He was grateful that I let him use my head to speak. So he let me pick what happened to me."

"Was 'walk away unharmed' one of the options?" Isabel asked sarcastically.

"Actually, yeah," Eric said with a pause. "Yeah it was. But I didn't consider it for long. I know you think Dracula is still fucking with my head," Eric wiped at his oozing black lip with a mechanical hand - but metal doesn't do well wiping up oil, and it just spread it out. He sighed. "But he let me go, if just for that one moment. So I could pick."

"And you picked to be here?!" Isabel said, in disbelief.

"With my friends. Adam had already been turned. And he said he was _not_ going to give up on chasing you," Eric muttered. "And what he wants, he gets. I told you I was done with that life - of the danger. I'm sick and tired of losing everything that matters. So I picked to stay here."

Isabel doubled over and put her head in her hands with a long sigh.

A hand on her back, carefully on top of her clothes. Adam. He had sat down to her other side. "Iz… I know this is a really stupid question, but… what's wrong? You look… really upset. Worse than the other night. What did he do?"

And so, she told them. Told them both everything - everything that had happened since she had set foot on castle grounds. Adrian, Tim, Maverick, and Dracula. Dracula. After a long debate , she decided to tell them what had transpired between her and the vampire king.

Eric had to stop the story there.

"Waaaaaait wait wait-" he paused the story in dramatic fashion, waving his single mechanical hand around. "Don't just skip over that. Wait. You. Screwed. Dracula?"

Now it was time for Isabel to turn bright red. She stared at the floor.

"Of course you did," Adam interjected before Eric could say anything stupid. "He's a manipulator. And he can touch you. I've seen him. "That _alone,_ Iz… You've never been able to touch _anyone - ever._ "

"Thanks for reminding me," she grumbled.

"And someone like that…"

"Shit, _I'd_ fuck him if he looked at me like he looks at you," Eric said through a laugh.

"What do you mean, 'how he looks at me?'" she raised an eyebrow.

"Honeybunch, you're just too damn oblivious. You always have been, whenever a dude wants to be _all_ up in that." Eric said again with another laugh, gesturing a boney and mechanical hand in her direction. Isabel remembered the memory of Tex that Dracula had shown her, and she looked down at the floor. But Eric wasn't done dragging out the 'good bits.' "And hey - hey - you're leaving a detail out."

"What?" Isabel asked begrudgingly.

"Was it good?" Eric said, grinning wide - his teeth stained black.

Isabel laughed hard and shoved him with her gloved hand. Mechanical monster or not, he _was_ still Eric in there somewhere. "I don't have anything to compare it to, asswipe."

"Oh, bullshit. Don't be a prude," Eric prodded.

Isabel sighed. "I'm not going to kiss and tell," but Eric just kept poking her in the ribs through her clothing, and she swatted at his hand. "Fine! Fine. Yes. It was world-shattering. Alright?"

"Yus!" Eric cheered, and laughed. "Hey, sorry. Been hoping you'd get laid for like, eight years now."

"I don't like how much time you've spent thinking about this," Isabel retorted.

"Continue telling your story," Adam dutifully reminded her. "Now that Eric's had his fun."

God, she wish she had her hoodie - or a coat, or anything. She wanted to hug them both so badly - but Vlad still apparently refused to let her have such contact with anyone. Anyone _else,_ anyway.

Isabel felt the dread well up in her as she got to the next part of her story. "Then… so there was this fountain."

Retelling what happened brought stinging tears back to her eyes - and this time she let them fall. These were her closest friends in the world - they wouldn't judge her. She told them everything she could remember - relayed the deaths that sprung to the front of her mind as she told them what had happened to her. Then Adrian - the priest Lyon, and now… here.

Telling it all made her feel somehow more lost and confused than before. "I don't… I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"Hey. Remember when we went to Kuwait?" Adam began.

"How am I supposed to forget that?" she replied.

"The village that we had to drive to - the one that had just been blown half to pieces. Remember that woman who had lost her family of eight - like, the day prior? Her whole life was gone. And she was still living. Still carrying water from the well to the rest of the village. Still finding a way to keep breathing, one day at a time." Adam paused. "You have to figure out how to keep going. We all do."

Isabel shut her eyes, feeling tears run down her cheeks again. "I felt myself die… thousands of times, Adam…"

"I know… I know… and I can't know what that's like. I don't think anybody can. But you gotta figure out… if you want to keep going, or not." Adam advised, and squeezed her hand. "I don't know why Dracula did that to you - I don't know why he hunted you. Why he still keeps hunting you in a way - even if you're his prisoner."

"Fun? Boredom?"

"Maybe," Eric said, and coughed up some black ooze, and spat it onto the ground next to him. "Sorry. Gross," he muttered. "Maybe. I mean, he's ancient. Ancient people probably get bored. But the castle… Look, I'm plugged into its nervous system now. And it knows Dracula - better than anything. And I dunno… something just feels weird about that. It doesn't sound right to me."

"Have you asked him why he did this to you?" Adam interjected.

"He won't tell me," Isabel answered.

"Then _make_ him," Adam squeezed her hand. "You know you can. Punt the doors in, and go digging," he grinned. "I'm sure I'm not supposed to talk like this, but… show him who he's messing with."

Isabel looked up at her friend, and smiled faintly. Adam and Eric were still in there - even if they were… different than they used to be. Even if they were - all three of them - corrupted or broken versions of their former lives… they were still the people she knew and loved.

Adam was wearing a suit coat, and she leaned against his shoulder, resting her head on it, enjoying the closeness of her friends. The robotic hand of Eric slipped into hers, and she squeezed it. Even if it was foreign to her. She shut her eyes. "Thanks, guys…"

A jet of fire, and Adam sprung to his feet, almost knocking Isabel to the floor.

"It is time to go," a voice said from behind her.

Well, it was nice while it lasted. Standing up, she smiled weakly at the two of them, and walked up to Dracula where he stood in the center of the platform, looking every bit the King of the Vampires that he was. Red eyes flickering in the darkness against pale skin and dark hair. He lifted a hand to her, beaconing her over.

Letting out a wavering breath, she put her hand in his without a fuss, and felt them disappear in a roar of fire.

As they reappeared - she found them not in her 'quarters' as the priest had called them - but his. The study with the blazing fire in the hearth and the chaise lounge. When she went to remove her hand from his, he held it tight, looking down at her as the dour statue he played so well.

Isabel gritted her teeth, and _knew_ what he was waiting for. Just _knew._ "You think I owe you a 'thank you' for taking me to see my friends?"

"I thought perhaps it would allow you a moment of reflection."

"On what you still have to threaten me with?"

"You said before that I had taken and destroyed all things of any import to you. Perhaps I sought to show a reminder that all was _not_ lost. Everything we care for in this world or any other, exists always as both strength and weakness. If you wish to interpret my actions as an attempt to utilize them for the later, very well."

He released her hand, and she took a half step back from him - a confused array of emotions pouring through her. His words rang true - and he had meant them. Isabel looked away, out the glass doors onto the balcony and the permanent night beyond. He hadn't needed to bring her to see Adam and Eric. Dracula hadn't threatened their lives, or tried to use it as any kind of bargaining tool. It seemed an act of pity, nothing else. Isabel sighed, and shook her head. "I'm not going to apologize for being angry. For being hurt, or… broken… or whatever I am now."

"Of course not."

What a stupid game - and she had no patience to play it. So fine. Isabel paused for a long moment, then said reluctantly. "Thank you for letting me see Adam and Eric." Isabel put a gloved hand to her face. God, she was so tired… And the bourbon had worn off.

He was close to her again, having stepped forward. She jumped, not expecting him to be there - as he took her hand in his, and gently pulled the glove from her hand. Isabel froze, and could only watch as he gently lifted her other hand, and did the same. "I despise that you must wear such things," he murmured.

Vlad lifted one of her hands to his face, and kissed the backs of her curled fingers, and she felt her stomach drop. And part of her loved the terror, the excitement - and another part hated herself for it all at once. Isabel tried to pull her hand away from him - but he refused to let her go, instead opening her hand with his thumb to place a kiss against the palm of her hand.

"After what you've done to me? You do this?" Isabel shook her head, exasperated. The feeling of his cool lips against her skin sent ten or twelve emotions crashing through her all at once. "Stop."

"No."

"Tell me why, then."

"Why what, precisely?"

Isabel laughed once. "All of it. Any of it! This game of yours. What you want from me - why you tortured me. Why I'm here now. Why you pity me enough to bring me an instrument to occupy my time and my friends to provide me some kind of solace - but you hunt me. You toy with me. You sent me through that _hell._ " Isabel shook her head, and tried to pull her hand from his grasp, but he kept her held fast. "You kiss me and kill me in the same breath. Why?"

Dracula stepped closer into her, now looming over her - causing her to swallow once in the back of her throat. His red eyes bored into hers. "You demand to know the reasoning behind my very nature."

Isabel wanted things to be easy again. Wanted things to be simple. Not like this. No phantoms at the edges of her vision. No Dracula and the emotions he wrought to contend with. If he had just forced everything from her, it would still be simple… Instead… Instead, she had to cope with what she felt. Which was both anger and longing - fear and excitement. Dread and pleasure.

Sensing her turmoil, his red eyes met hers, and he slipped his other hand slowly around to the back of her lower back, and pulled her closer to him. His fingers slipped underneath her halter-top to splay against the skin against her lower back. The hand that had kept her own close to his face abandoned its goal and slipped through her hair until it pulled her head to the side. She made a small gasp in shock and pain as he did - and fear roiled through her as she knew what was about to happen.

Pulling her into him, pressing her lower body against his and arching her back with his other hand - he leant his head down, and ran his tongue slowly along her neck. Vlad ran lazy circles around the wound that had almost healed in the past five days - that felt like five minutes or fifty years, but nowhere in between.

Isabel cried out as his fangs bit into her skin, and her hands gripped his vest and shirt tightly as he fed from her. Felt his closeness - his mind with hers again, felt him touch her. The sensation that terrified and thrilled her at the same time. The man she feared - and who reached further into her soul than anyone ever had. Pleasure took over as the low drum of their hearts began to beat in time with each other.

Slowly, after a long few minutes of drawing from her, he pulled away and licked the wounds again, purring deep in his throat. Isabel couldn't even react as an arm slung behind her knees and he was suddenly carrying her. A few strides, and he sat down in his chair by the fire, placing her sideways across his lap and wrapping an arm around her.

Isabel wanted him to let her go. To kill her. To hate her. To stop touching her. To hold her, to slit her throat - to kiss her - to do a million conflicting things at once. She punched his chest, and he simply took the abuse - it didn't hurt.

He waited patiently as the pointlessness of her struggling made her finally give up. Now she just felt… empty. She had wanted simplicity - and he had given it to her. But it didn't fill the void she had hoped it would, still feeling torn apart and left hollow. She kept her eyes shut as he held her. Once she stilled, she felt his fingers running through her hair. He did that often - she could feel the enjoyment he felt at the sensation. But, it was as though he were trying to... comfort her. Why?!

"Tell me, please," she begged again, quietly. This had to make sense - somehow, somewhere, and she needed to know how. "Continuing on without understanding why you did this - it's too much to ask of me."

"I forced your hand in public so that I would have no choice but to follow through with what must be done," his voice was a deep rumble that she could feel echo through her. "What I did to you… was necessary. The fountain was the worst horror I could devise for one such as you." He placed a gentle kiss against her forehead.

She said nothing for a long time. How could someone say those words - say that he had subjected her to the worst torture he could think of, and then end it with a kiss? Every moment was a crossroads in her mind - a split decision between insanity, emptiness, and trying to forge ahead with all of what coursed through her. What he did to her. The memories of thousands of deaths of every kind. Three days she had spent in that fountain - but what she had seen could easily have spanned three decades of time.

Dracula spoke again, pushed by her silence. "I knew I would not be able to complete the act without some manner of additional motivation."

Isabel opened her eyes, looking down at her hands in her lap. "You're telling me… Torturing me was 'necessary,' You're saying that what you did was the worst you could come up with. You knew I'd lose my temper… and you did it on purpose… to make sure you were held accountable."

Vlad was silent - waiting to see what she would do. It seemed he did that a great deal - wait to see her reaction. For her to choose. He had spoke of a 'game' many times… of his game with her. Was this it? A chess match? A chess match to what end?

"That makes no sense," she kept her head lowered, unable to find the will to raise it. "Why do you need any extra motivation? Why any excuse at all? And you'll tell me that you needed additional motives - but not your _original motive_." She raised her head to look at him, and even sitting on his lap he was taller than her.

"Every time I demand to know what you want from me - you say cryptic bullshit. 'Everything' or 'You will be dead in the ground before you're rid of me.' Tell me, _Vlad Dracula Tepes,_ why the _fuck_ I'm here, or I swear _-_ " her anger filled the void again, and she tried to push off of him, but his arm around her waist held her there like an iron rod. His other hand was at the back of her head now, and it pulled her into a fiery kiss. She let out a 'mnnfh!' against his lips as he did.

Vlad broke the kiss slowly, and kept his head close to hers, cold breath against her skin. "I needed to know if you could survive - intact." He pulled further back, his hand still resting at the back of her neck. Isabel realized he was not referencing her time in the fountain.

"Survive _what_ exactly?!"

"... Me."

Isabel watched him as he said the word with a dark expression that belied so much hatred - pointed both inwards and outwards. So much regret and _loathing_ for a world that made him live like a monster that he hated.

But it was still not an answer. Not a real one.

Isabel narrowed her eyes at him, angry at his cryptic response again. "No more shadows. No more secrets and riddles. You'll tell me, or I'll make you tell me."

Dracula huffed once in a small laugh. "And what will you do?"

"Let's find out," she responded as she put her hands on either side of his neck, her palms against the line of his jaw. Isabel had never used her gift on him willingly. Had never _forced_ her way into his mind. Every time they found themselves in that predicament it had been due to his prodding. Isabel had _never_ forced her way through another person's mind - afraid of what would happen to them. She refused to leave another person dying in a coma.

But for him, she didn't care.

She wanted the answer, once and for all.

Dracula snarled loudly in pain as she kicked down the proverbial door into his mind.

* * *

A beautiful woman from ancient times. Long black hair - eyes painted gold, black and turquoise. A princess, in love with a man beneath her station. She was to be a goddess, after all.

He was considered a scholar, by those times - if only because he could read and write the language of dashes and triangles. A language of chisel marks. Crude, but the written language must start somewhere. Sidelong glances in the great hall - a wink, a smile - turned into a secret trist that played itself out in darkened alleys of mud buildings.

Her kiss tasted like lavender and honey. He remembered that, as her blood was poured down his throat at the altar that made him the monster that he was doomed to be for all time.

* * *

Isabel stood inside the ancient castle - and watched as Vlad carefully approached a figure standing on the lip of a balcony. The woman was wearing a long, flowing pink dress, and her pale hair flew in the breeze as she looked at him, her eyes wide. A red stain decorated her neck.

"Please, no-" he begged the woman in pink.

He was weak - too newly resurrected to stop her as she flung herself from the balcony. Dracula rushed to the edge, and threw himself over, hoping to catch her in time to save her from the rocks below. To turn them both to bats before the rocks met them.

But he was too late.

He saw her thin, frail body meet the rocks with a horrible force. Her spine snapped, and her eyes instantly became sightless and empty.

He landed on the rocks, ignoring the pain lancing through his legs as he crawled to her - cradling her body in his arms.

* * *

It wasn't until he had found her amongst the corpses of the villagers that he knew that her madness had grown too much for him to control. The children laid around her, dead, throats torn open.

His love sat amongst them, dark eyes looking up at him in hopeful pleasure, fangs grotesque against her beautiful lips. "I've left one alive for you, Master!"

He had torn her head from her shoulders before she could feel the pain. He would not make her suffer - it was _his_ fault, after all.

* * *

Pregnant - with his child…? How could that be? How could God do such a thing - to offer him the gift of family.

Only to rip it away from him.

He found her swinging from the rafters of her room, having created a noose out of the bed linens.

* * *

Lisa. Oh, Lisa. The impetuous, fiercely intelligent creature that dared walk through his front doors. Seeking knowledge - seeking _him_ and what _he_ could offer.

No one stepped through his doors willingly. No one stepped through of their own accord - not truly.

But she had.

Vlad had wanted to turn her- or to bring her halfway, to perform the ritual that would bind them together until they both died. But she had gently refused - wanting to spend her life with him. Lisa knew that he would suffer in his absence - but she could not face eternity. Lisa knew she was not strong enough to endure what endlessness truly was. Even if it was not to be spent alone.

So, she condemned him to suffer the fate that she so avoided.

Her death came sooner than he had ever dreamed. He had believed that in time, she would begin to fear death and finally submit to his plea for her to join him. But the _humans_ had dashed that away from him… Robbed him of the love he cherished.

A building, burnt to rubble - a hovel that she had used to treat the miserable _cretins_ around her. He remembered an old woman, with flowers… remembered sparing her life. But many hundreds died for the loss of the woman he loved.

When he fell at his son's hand, he swore that it was over. The castle would not return - even if he must.

* * *

Mina. She was a child, a deliciously naive thing - with such potential. The crushing loneliness sent him to her again, and again, even when he knew it was dangerous.

He had cast the castle away - trapping it inside a blade. He heard it crying and pleading for freedom, for blood, every waking moment. No. He would find another life. No more of this endless cycle of waking and death, of emptiness and endless years sitting upon a meaningless throne.

Even in his wanderings, where he convinced the creature to take a new master, he could hear it crying for his return. The further he distanced himself, the weaker he became. It was that weakness that made him vulnerable to a pair of dimwitted humans who took his hope for a new manner of life away from him.

Never again.

* * *

Almost a dozen women - over four thousand years, or more. She saw them all, one after another. Each one he loved - truly, and with his whole soul. Each one he worshiped, each one in turn was his hope for the end to his empty night. To give him another at his side who would fill the void.

Each one played out in front of her.

Each one died in turn.

Each one left him alone.

* * *

When she emerged from his mind, she opened her eyes - and found her hands stained with blood.

Brief fear gripped her, before she saw… they were his tears.

He opened his red eyes, and looked at her, forlorn and injured. "I suppose," he voice was barely audible - a rumble in his chest more than anything. "That I deserved that…"

She had torn away his defences. Ripped away the privacy of his mind and jammed a knife into his most open wound. Isabel had found a way to hurt him, finally: make him relive their deaths. Feeling the pain coursing through him - she wasn't totally glad she had.

Dracula had put her through the fountain to test if she would come out 'intact.' To see if… what, she could survive him? To survive… eternity? "I don't understand," she whispered to him.

Vlad brushed his fingers along her face, and slipping his hand to the back of her neck, pulled her in for a kiss. It was slow - gentle… but intense. She felt the need there - but not like before. This wasn't a physical need. _Don't be a fool,_ he whispered in her mind, as he let the kiss break naturally. He watched her - and waited.

He didn't love her. She knew that much. But she felt… hope that perhaps, such things could happen.

Hope. _Dracula_ could hope.

How someone like him could _-_ where creatures who were much younger, like Adrian - no such thing lived… was astonishing. And made her almost pity Vlad. Isabel was positive that if he had the chance to tear out his feelings at the roots, he would. But no one had control over such things.

Isabel felt his emptiness - his sorrow, his pain. She felt the loss echoing through him. Everyone he had ever loved was lost to him. Even Adrian, he could never reclaim.

"You hurt me, to see if I would break..?" she asked him weakly, tears stinging her own eyes. "Which did you want to see happen?"

Vlad shut his eyes, and sighed. "I do not know."

The truth stung, and she looked away. He knew he couldn't lie to her - so he hadn't bothered. At least he would pay her that credit, even if he didn't necessarily want to.

 _Sleep,_ he silently urged her. _I will keep the dreams at bay._ Isabel felt his command run to her core - and she would usually fight or baulk at such a command. But now she was too beaten and battered, tired and worn thin. She let the darkness come.

* * *

Isabel had fallen asleep in his arms, curled up against him with her forehead resting against his neck. Vlad felt… content. His little creature had been exhausted, overwrought with all that she had seen. He had felt her desire for simplicity in that moment, and he had granted it. Vlad understood why she was too afraid to shut her eyes. He had shared every moment of her trial inside the Well of Souls. Their link was both burden and blessing.

Every death that she had lived through, he had seen. Every moment of suffering, he had shared. Their bond, from his taking her blood, their sharing of minds - their sharing of bodies - made it so. Truly, he would not have wished it otherwise. Her gift was often problematic and defied his attempts to curtail and contain its bounds. Yet, as much as she could feel his thoughts, he, in turn, shared in hers.

The little creature that burst through the doors of his mind and laid him bare before her. The one who held such sympathy for his pain.

He shut his eyes, and let himself enjoy the feeling of the heat of the fire, and her warm body curled against his. He relished in the sensation, as he had no warmth of his own.

Both would be gone soon enough, he knew.


	13. Chapter 13

**Here you are, (un)Lucky Chapter 13. :) Thanks again for the reviews and the follows, I really appreciate it!**

* * *

Dracula had said he would keep the dreams away.

Who knows, maybe he had tried.

Who knows, maybe this was actually real. The castle was weird enough to certainly allow what she saw to be inside the waking world.

Isabel found herself standing in a long hallway that made _no_ sense. It was twisted and angular, like a funhouse that had been through an earthquake. It took every proper dimension of a room and warped it like a bad nightmare. It looked longer than it probably actually was - the whole hallway was a forced perspective trick. It twisted in the middle, rotating in a dizzying way, making each of the columns and arches warp against each other.

And that was before you factored in that it was mother-fucking _upside down._

She was standing on the ceiling, as though that were a perfectly normal place to be. It made her kind of nauseous, standing next to a chandelier that had no business sticking up from the floor on a chain. Isabel tilted her head to the side as she looked at the flame that was flickering… downwards. Towards the 'ceiling.' That was actually the floor.

And yet, gravity for her felt normal. Like somehow only the castle itself had decided to change its mind about the proper direction of things. She walked up to the chandelier, stepping over the carved wooden medallions and directions. Reaching out, she poked the chandelier, sending it swaying back and forth as it naturally would. If, y'know, it were right-side-up.

"Fucking weird..." Isabel muttered to herself.

Or, she thought it was to herself.

"Oh, sweetheart… you don't even know the _half_ of it."

The voice was wistful, but it made her hair stand on end. It had come from above her. Isabel looked up at the 'floor' above her - or down - or whatever - at the source.

A shadow was cast along the rug on the floor above her - like someone was standing there. But there… wasn't anyone. Not that she could see, anyway. Only a black shadow of an overly-sharp-angled figure. It was cartoonish - surreal, like the hallway it was standing in. It was of a man in a suit, his hands shoved into his pockets.

Isabel blinked, too confused to respond.

" _Nothing's gunna happen without warning - down is the new up!"_ the voice sang. Isabel recognized the tune - Radiohead. One of her favorites. What the actual _fuck_ was going on?! "Look, I'll level with you." the voice spoke again, no longer sing-song. It was a sharp voice to match the harsh contrast of the shadow. The shadow shifted as 'it spoke' - putting its weight onto one foot and pulling a hand from a pocket, gesturing idly. "Seems you've been kicked around like a tin can lately. And besides, I'm _really_ impatient."

Suddenly the voice was no longer above her - but whispering into her ear.

"Hi."

Isabel screamed, whirled, and fell over - landing hard on her ass. She looked up at the figure that now stood over her - laughing. No. Cackling. It was a sound that would have made Vincent Price go pale.

The laugh was dripping in madness.

And so was the figure it belonged to.

The first thing that struck her about him was the stark contrast. His hair was long, and jet white - his suit as dark as the shadow he had appeared to be at first. A black tie against a white shirt, and skin that only appeared to have color due to its association with his even paler hair. The only color on him that she could see was a dark blue vest.

His features were vicious, cruel, angular - and his eyes shone with a madness that made Isabel recoil. He looked entirely... _wrong._

Eric watched a lot of anime. He had subjected her (and everyone else) to his long binge fests of the genre. He had once watched one - ironically enough - about Dracula, more or less. And nazi's. Or vampire nazi's. Or something. Isabel hadn't paid much attention, and couldn't quite follow, to be honest. The characters were too 'sharp' - contrasted too much with their surroundings - part of the style, Eric had insisted.

And he looked like that.

"You think so?" the man piped, excitedly, looking down at himself. "That's exactly what I was going for! Am I as hot? I was going for 'hot.' Well, evil. Evil and hot. Did it work?"

"W… what?" Isabel stammered as she scooched backwards and scrambled to her feet, trying to put distance between them. It had heard her thoughts. She turned to run.

"No no, none of that-" the creature said as he waved a white-gloved hand in her direction.

Isabel let out a 'hrnk' noise as something grabbed her around the throat. A loud resounding 'crash' as brass and glass broke from overhead. The chain of the chandelier had let go of its quarry sending it 'falling upwards' and now instead wrapped itself around her throat. Isabel's hands flew to the chain, trying to pull it away from her. But it might as well have been welded there.

The creature stepped forward, smiling, quite pleased with himself, his hands stuffed back into his pockets. He approached her casually, still smiling. Isabel struggled and kicked outwards at him as he got near, and he only laughed.

"Oooh, you're _feisty._ I like feisty. I think I do anyway-" he pondered, speaking quickly, looking off with a sudden pensive expression as he debated aloud. "I mean, I'm sure I _would._ I don't see why not. Feisty seems fun. I think that's the whole point of why I exist in the first place, really. But - anyway - I digress-" he snapped back to her, and his expression changed just as quickly back to a sadistic one. "Either way, you kick me, and I'll break both your legs," he said with a vicious grin. "Either way, I come out on the up and up!"

"This is a dream. You can't really hurt me," Isabel snarled at him angrily, still yanking on the chain.

"Oh psh," he waved a gloved hand dismissively. "That's a load of horse shit and you know it. I can 'fake' hurt you just as bad. Watch-" he snatched her hand away from the chain, and she let out a scream as he snapped her fingers backwards, breaking them all with a sickening _crunch._

And in the same moment as pain flooded her mind and made her gag in pain - it was gone. She looked at her hand - and her fingers were fine.

"He who giveth, taketh away," the creature said. This time, he was _far_ too close to her for her liking. He smelled sickly-sweet, like rotting flowers. Before she could react, he ran his tongue up the side of her face.

"Fuck- _stop it!_ " she shouted, trying to push him away from her, his hands pressed against his chest. It felt like fabric-coated brick.

He laughed again, tilting his head back as he howled in over-excited laughter. "Oh! Oh this is just too much fun!" He hopped from one foot to the other. "I totally get why the vampire does it now!"

Isabel felt the chain disappear from around her neck - but she wasn't free. He had grabbed her, one arm slung around her waist - the other holding her arm aloft like they were in some bizarre, awful waltz.

And sure enough, he began dragging her around, her feet scrambling to keep up as he moved them around in circles to unheard music, grinning wildly. "Who - what _are you?!_ " she cried.

"I am your madness!" he laughed again, twirling her, and then dragging her back into him. She let out an 'unf' as she collided with him. But still, the dance continued. And he kept talking. "I am your madness given form. Given _life._ You are my creator!"

"Not - not possible-" Isabel felt out of breath - everything was happening too fast. She staggered as he dragged her around in his waltz.

"You shitting me?" he snickered. "Anything that's fucked up can happen in here. That's the whole _purpose_ of this place _._ " He finally stopped dancing, and looked down at her. God, he was tall - probably close to seven feet.

"I'm not insane," she insisted.

"Oh. No. You're not. But you should be!" he grinned, still not releasing his grip on her. "Soooo…. That means…"

"You're not real. You're just a bad goddamn dream."

"Sure," he said, and looked off, feigning taking her seriously. "I could be that. But, Drac-boy said he'd keep the dreams away, didn't he? So… either he lied, or… he wasn't counting on your dreams fighting back."

With the last two words, he leaned down close to her - pushing his face close to hers. She bent away from him, wincing. The action only made him chuckle, and he instead buried his face in her hair. "You smell amazing.." he murmured into her hair. "Although," he added, thoughtfully. "I really don't have anything to compare it to-" he pulled his head back an inch. "But don't take that the wrong way."

"Let me go."

"Nope!" he shouted suddenly, and it made her jump as he yelled into her ear. He laughed again, hard. "Sorry. Still learning my indoor voice!" he yelled again.

"Will you fucking _stop it!_ " she hollered back.

"'Kay."

And with that, he let her go. She stepped back, pushing herself away from him and glaring at him angrily, rubbing her ear. "So you're all of what happened to me, manifest."

"Basically sums it up," he said with a mild shrug, smiling at her with something that she could only define as adoration - a sick, twisted, insane adoration. It made her stomach churn.

"How do I get you to go away?"

"Y'don't."

Isabel shook her head. "No. I do. When I wake up, I tell Dracula. And then you're dealt with."

"Oh? What's he gunna do?" the creature grinned again, his head tilting to the side, long white hair falling around his shoulders. The grin vanished, and now he was serious. "No. Really. I want to know." He hissed a breath in through his teeth and let it out slowly. "Or I will make you suffer more than _you can imagine…"_

"Huh? I-"

Isabel shrieked as he was on her suddenly. Vlad moved quickly - but this thing moved faster than was possible. It simply was in one place, and then another. Suddenly she was slammed back against the wall. One of his hands had her wrists over her head, and the other had snapped around her neck. The impact made her dizzy for a second as her eyes tried to refocus. "Tell me!" he snarled angrily.

"I don't- I don't know-" she stammered.

His mood changed as fast as it had come. "Good!" he smiled down at her. "And here I thought you were just making _idle threats._ " He hissed the last words through his teeth, as if scolding her.

Isabel blinked as it dawned on her slowly what he had done. He had faked the anger, faked the threats - to trick her into admitting her bluff. She had just been played. Behind the mad eyes - that shone a sharp blue - burned a deep intelligence. Whatever he was, he was smart enough to manipulate.

Great. A brilliant psychopath. That's all she needed.

"I know, right?" he answered her unspoken thoughts with the sarcastic tone of a tv sitcom.

Isabel sighed. A brilliant psychopath who could read her mind. Even better.

"Can I fuck you?" he asked suddenly, the question sounding utterly innocent. "I think I'd very much like to fuck you."

"No!" she yelled, shocked.

"M-kay," he said with a shrug. "Maybe later then."

"No! Not later! Not ever!" Isabel shoved at him hard. "Goddamn it all, let me go!"

"My name isn't 'God,'" he laughed idly. "You know that, silly." He pulled her away from the wall a few inches, and then slammed her back into it. Isabel's head swam from the impact. "And I told you not to struggle."

Isabel groaned. If he wasn't holding her up, she probably would have collapsed from the hit. Her vision was swimming as he slipped a leg in between hers, pinning her against the wall. This let him release her hands.

Gloved fingers ran through her hair, rubbing the back of her head. He clutched her to him, and her head was suddenly pressed against his chest. The smell of sickly-sweet dying flowers was almost overpowering. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry… You made me do it," he cooed quietly down to her. "I don't know how strong I am. You shouldn't make me mad…"

Isabel wanted to sob. Wanted to scream or cry - anything at all. Her world was going from awful, to farcical, to 'just kill me already.'

"Hey, hey… no, none of that…" his hand around her throat slid to cup her chin and lift it to look up at him. His lips met hers, and she let out a 'mnfh!' against his lips as he kissed her.

His kiss lacked finesse. It was filled with a cruel and selfish hunger, and she felt him smile against her as he broke the kiss, running his tongue along her lower lip. His voice was low, husky as he spoke - his breath warm against her skin. "You sure I can't fuck you?"

Isabel grit her teeth, clenching her jaw. She wanted to wipe her face on her arm - but who knows what he'd do if she insulted him like that. If she fought him, he'd hurt her - he already proved that. "I'm sure," she insisted, angrily.

He let out an exaggerated sigh. "Fine…" He straightened up away from her enough to give her some air. "So before I let you wake up," he began idly, twisting one of her locks of hair around his finger. "I have a dilemma I need you to help me solve."

Isabel remained silent, and he sighed, annoyed.

"What's your dilemma, tall, dark and handsome stranger?" he said, his voice high and squeaky as he imitated a woman. "Well, I'm so glad you asked!" he continued, his voice switching back to normal. "I don't have a name!" He looked down at her expectantly, and growled when she didn't respond.

She spoke to avoid him hitting her again. "You don't have a name." It was a statement, not a question, from her.

"Nope! I'm _entirely_ new," he grinned. "Created by a combination of every little piece of soul that used to be part of that broken fountain, and whatever I've found fishing about in that head of yours."

Isabel remembered that the 'Well of Souls' hadn't been flowing when she awoke - after Adrian had saved her from it. She hadn't thought about it at the time. It had been empty. "You.. broke the fountain?"

"No, dumbass," he sighed, now annoyed she wasn't following along fast enough. " _You_ broke the fountain. You sucked up every drop of those busted-ass bits and pieces of dead people-" he snapped his fingers in front of her face as he spoke, as if trying to get an errant student to pay attention. " _And instead of going insane, you made me instead!"_ he hollered. As she tried to recoil from the noise, he leaned into her ear and whispered. "I'll let you in on a secret… all those ghosts? Me. Waking up."

"Please, leave me alone," she half-whispered.

"What's better? Seeing ghosts everywhere, all the time? Or-" he drew out the 'or' dramatically. "Putting up with _me._ " He smiled, quite proud of himself again. "But that's not the point. The _point,_ is that _I need a fucking name,_ " he growled. "Focus, will you?"

"Sorry?" she replied, unsure of how else to respond. He seem pleased by that, and shrugged it away like it was no big deal.

"I was thinking Alucard, y'know, Dracula backwards, since that'd make sense and all, but that's already taken. SOooooo…"

"You're really going to make me do this?" The whole thing felt like a fever dream.

"You created me! It's only fair! It's your _responsibility_ to name me."

In some bizarre, stupid way - it made sense. Isabel shut her eyes for a moment and then reopened them, hoping he'd be gone. But no, he was still there - pinning her to the wall with his leg, smiling down at her with a benign adoration despite the insanity in his eyes.

He was a ghost. A monster, haunting the shadows. A collection of dead and broken souls wearing the skin of a man.

"Wraith."

"Oooh I like it," he cooed. "Wraith… It fits… Not terribly _flattering,_ but - if it looks like a duck and it quacks like a duck, I suppose." He stepped away from her and let her go, and she finally felt her weight back on her own feet. "I guess that means I'll let you wake up now-" he pulled something out of his pocket.

It's amazing how much like a lightswitch fear can be. One moment, nothing. Then, terror.

Wraith flicked his wrist with a practiced gesture, and the long, intricate pocket knife he had produced made its tell-tale ' _shick'_ noise. The blade shone as he stepped back towards her.

"Wait-" she cried, but it was too late, as he dug the knife into the side of her throat.

* * *

Isabel awoke to hands on her shoulders, shaking her. She thrashed, her heart pounding loudly in her ears. Someone was screaming, and it took her a moment to realize it was her.

"Be still-" she heard a familiar deep voice try to calm her down.

She was shaking - and her hand went to her throat. No wound - no blood. No pain except the memory of it. Finally, she was able to look up at Vlad, blinking as she slowly became aware of her surroundings.

Isabel was lying on the chaise lounge in the room where she had fallen asleep - and he was sitting next to her on the cushion, his red eyes narrowed with concern, and frustration.

What kind of world did she live in now - that she was _relieved_ to see him?

"I could not wake you," he spoke once she was calm enough. "You were crying out." Ah. That's why he was frustrated. He had been unable to stop it.

"I don't… even know how to explain what just happened to me," she said slowly, trying to force her hands to stop shaking. She moved to sit up, and he let her, removing his hands from her shoulders.

"A force of some manner was keeping you rapt-" he was watching her like a man would look at something through a microscope. "I was unable to break through your mind to see what it was, despite your weakened state."

"I don't think he wanted company, and holy _fuck_ my head is getting way too crowded," she said with a sarcastic half-laugh, putting her head in her hands.

"I assume you will elaborate." Dracula was unamused.

Isabel did her best to do just that - she saw no reason not to tell him everything she remembered about what had happened. He stood up halfway through her explanation, walking from her to stand and stare into the fire still burning in the hearth. "It's possible it was just a really messed up dream," she said as she finished.

"Unlikely," he responded after a long silence. "What I sensed was not… you."

"I don't know which is better - that it was just a dream and I'm losing my mind… or now that thing is… wait - is it still inside my head?!" No matter the answer, she didn't like having 'Wraith' be real, _and_ still inside her mind.

"I do not know. The dead are not my forte. They make themselves known to me only at their doing."

Isabel looked off - not sure what to say. Not sure what to do. Dracula was unreadable - just a cloud of darkness and anger. She stood up, and was glad to see that the nightmare hadn't left her too weak to do so. Walking to an ornate mirror, she looked at her reflection, and half expected to see 'Wraith' standing behind her. Luckily, she was alone in the glass. Running her hand through her hair to neaten it (although why she bothered, she had no idea,) she let out a sigh.

"Between what happened last night, and now this? Are you sure I'm not losing my mind?"

That drew a single, quiet laugh from him. She turned to watch him as he stood, gazing into the fire, still unreadably dour. "You are a resilient creature, my little dove," he spoke finally, his voice quiet. "Despite all my attempts to prove otherwise."

Isabel heard the 'tap-tap' of liquid hitting a wood surface.

It was then, that she noticed his fists were clenched tight enough that his sharpened nails were puncturing his palms. The blood was flowing through the space between his fingers and dripping to the floor. It was not an unreadable dour cloud that she was sensing from him - it was a carefully masked _rage._ But towards whom?

"Hey," she said quietly, walking up to him. "Hey, quit that…" Why did she care? She shouldn't. This was her captor. The creature that started this whole mess. The one that hunted her like prey. And yet, maybe Stockholm Syndrome had started to kick in.

She picked up a cloth napkin from the bar by the wall as she walked past and to his side. She picked up his wrists, and held his hands in front of her, palm up. He let her, watching her with a blank face as she urged his hands open. She knew his wounds would heal quickly, but she felt somehow obligated. She wiped the blood off of his palms with the napkin carefully.

"Dumbass," she scolded. With a blink, she remembered Wraith calling her that. She realized, as she gently did her best to wipe the blood from him - that Wraith had spoken a great deal like her. He had even sung, one of her traits. He had said he was the combination of all those dead memories - and part of her. Isabel had created him.

"No. You did not," Dracula spoke quietly, answering her unspoken thoughts. His voice was a dark rumble, and she could hear the restrained hatred and rage burning beneath. " _I did._ " Isabel realized the rage and anger she sensed was directed… squarely at himself. "I am a fool," he growled. "Yet once more I have engineered my own _failure…_ "

"What are you talking about?"

"If I had not thrown you to drown in that living nightmare, to see if you were 'worthy' of my time," he snarled. "This new threat would not plague us _both._ And to _think_ in my arrogance - after this new hell resolves in whatever manner fate plays itself - you could look upon me as a man?!" Vlad laughed, cruelly, but at himself.

"Buddy, I hate to break it to you. I'm never going to 'look upon you as a man.'" When Dracula growled low in his throat, she shook her head. "That's not what I meant. That doesn't mean no one will ever care about you. I mean you're _you._ You're not a man. Haven't been one for longer than every civilization on this planet has ever lasted _-"_ she laughed at the ludicrous nature of her comment. "If that's what you want, you're not going to get it. Not from me, not from anybody. Not really - not truthfully."

Dracula sighed, and she finally looked up at him from cleaning the palms of his hands. He stood there, his eyes shut, head bowed. He spoke, finally. "Then I am trapped in eternity, alone, as what you see before you. If I accept what I am, I destroy everything around me. If I deny what I am, I destroy everything around me."

Isabel released his hands, and she felt the dismay flicker in him as he thought she would recoil from him. A smart person would have. A sane person would have rubbed his face in it, and walked away. But Isabel couldn't. Not with her goddamn bleeding heart complex. And, to be honest, part of her understood. Couldn't pretend that she knew what it was really like - but could wrap her head around why it made him the way he was. Instead of doing the smart or sane thing (two things Isabel never had claimed to be,) she wrapped her arms around him, and stepped into him - hugging him. She rested her head against his chest, and was reminded for a moment he had no heartbeat. Not unless he was drinking from someone who _did._

It took a long moment of surprise before he returned the gesture, and held her tightly to him. "You've done horrible things that I need to reconcile in my head. And that's going to take time - if I even survive this. But," She lifted her head to look up at him and raised her hand and gently ran her fingers across his cheek. His skin was cool to the touch, and he shut his eyes, leaning into her caress. "What you are… what you've become, what you've withstood… You have every reason to be the way you are. I look at someone like Adrian, and I see someone who hasn't suffered a fraction of what you've endured and I feel from him nothing but emptiness… bitterness. Yet you have hope. After all this time… after everything." Isabel smiled sadly, and placed her palm against his cheek, letting her thumb run gently back and forth along his skin. "You deserve someone to love you for who and what you _really are_. Not as a man. As Dracula. I don't know if I'm the answer, I can't promise that I am..."

Her speech lost its momentum as she trailed off. Isabel was never good at finishing a lecture. She stood up on her tiptoes to reach him, and placed a kiss on the corner of his mouth, the sorrow radiating from him almost making her cry.

Vlad held her to him tightly for a moment before releasing her. He finally opened his red eyes, glinting in the firelight, and lifted a hand to gently run it through her hair. It was clear he wish to speak, but could not find the words. He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss against her forehead. Finally, he found words, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You pay me too much kindness, Isabel."

It was the first time he had used her name, and she wasn't sure why it impacted her so. But she didn't have time to debate it, as he spoke again - his mood shifting back to his normal fuge.

"Let us see if we cannot rid you of this phantom and end this before it begins."

He never did let her get her footing, did he? "I thought you said you didn't handle ghosts?"

He smirked. "I do not. But I know someone who does. There is a change of clothes in the bathroom," he said with a gesture. "I will return shortly to fetch you - I will make some preparations in the meanwhile."

And with that, he was gone. Not in the jet of fire that was customary (she was standing next to him, she was glad he chose a different method,) but instead into a swarm of bats that filled the room and poured from the window. Isabel threw her arms over her face and let out a shriek, startled.

He was a mercurial bastard, that much she knew.

* * *

Isabel was glad to have a chance to change and straighten herself out. God, what she wouldn't do for a cup of coffee. Oh well. Dracula had come to collect her after about an hour, and he brought them both (in a roar of flame this time) to a part of the castle she had never seen before.

The rooms seemed divided in half - cut down the middle between science and magic. Literally as if a line had been drawn down the middle. One side of the room was filled with beakers and vials, bubbling equipment and buzzing pieces of machinery like a rendition of Frankenstein's castle. The other, filled with trinkets, jars of pieces of… Isabel stopped trying to identify them after she got to the jar of human eyes. She blanched, and did her best to follow close behind Vlad.

 _Do not wander off,_ he spoke into her mind. _I cannot trust you will be safe here in my absence._

Isabel's steps faltered as they came across a body that had been strung up and dissected, the skin pulled away and held back with pins. Part science project, part voodoo doll. It had taken on the grey and ashen pallor of a body long since dead and preserved. The brittle flesh had flaked away in parts, showing only ashen bone. Isabel let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, feeling ill. "Not a problem…" she muttered back, and heard him laugh once in response.

Finally they came to a larger chamber - a circular one that domed over head. It looked like an atrium - or a study of some kind. The second floor was lined with shelves and bookcases, machinery and samples and specimens. Still split down the middle between the new and old arts. Between witchcraft and -

"Oh. I get it," she felt stupid. "Witch doctor."

Dracula glanced back at her and smirked. "Indeed."

"Who is it that you have brought us, hm?!" A voice called from nearby. It was screechy and changed pitch too quickly. The accent sounded foreign - german, maybe?

Isabel stepped in close to Dracula, who only looked down at her with a mild smile. _I see you no longer hold fear of me,_ he spoke silently into her mind.

 _Priorities._ She responded, and he laughed again.

Vlad turned his attention to the creature that had spoken. "I come with an inquiry."

The monster that approached may have been human, once. It was hard to tell. He was balding, and what hair he did have was grey and mottled. It walked with a strange and limping gait, its body stitched together at every joint like a ragdoll. An old pair of goggles were stitched physically onto its face, obscuring its eyes. With it's left hand, it reached up and pulled one of the magnifying lenses of different strengths on wires down over the main goggles with a 'click.' His limbs were too long, and his skin was yellowed and sallow - the tones of the different flesh showing lighter and darker patches. Revealing that he had made himself out of… other pieces of other people. At least two people by her count, maybe more.

"We see that, we see that…" the creature walked up to them with his strange gait, and reached out his right hand - and Isabel recoiled as she realized his fingers had been lopped off at the third knuckle, the ends of his fingers replaced with scalpels, rusted and caked with blood.

A hand on her back kept her from retreating further. But that didn't stop the fear from driving her heart to beat like a drum in her ears. "You will not harm her," Vlad growled at the creature.

It flinched visibly and pulled back like a dog that had been scolded by his owner. "Yes, Master… Of course not. How can we be of service?"

We? Wait. Who was 'we?'

"I believe she may be possessed. I wish you to rectify this problem."

"Oooh… Yes, yes, of course. You wish to speak to the _other_ one, then."

"If it is not too much trouble."

"Never! Never." The creature then grabbed its head with both hands - and - Isabel let out a groan as there was a sickening _crunch_ as it spun its head around backwards.

Only to reveal another face.

Stitched to the back of its own head was another head. Split in half, like the room itself. This one had dark skin that was ashen at the edges with rot and mold. Its eyes blinked open, and the yellow stain around the retina looked fetid and putrid. It grinned, teeth stained black. He raised his left hand - which Isabel now realized was dark in tone, unlike the right hand with the scalpels grafted into the flesh. He rubbed his hand over his face, pulled in a breath, letting out all go at once. "Hello, hello, hello… come, come. There's work to be done!"

The thing turned to lead them further into its… laboratory, or whatever it was. The face of the 'doctor' was still on the back of the head of the 'witch' half of the 'witch doctor' combination, eyes now shut and dormant. It was one body with two faces, made from _two_ people.

The had on her back urged her forward, and Isabel reluctantly followed after the creature as it walked through to the other end of the room and through a maze-like set of hallways into another chamber.

"Oh, god…" Isabel couldn't help but mutter as her stomach roiled at what she saw.

So _that's_ what happened to them…

The doctor who had paid them to find the sword and the corpse - the doctor who had started this whole affair, and his chubby little assistant. The two that had started this entire mess. They were now… part of an experiment of some kind. It was impossible to tell what kind, except to play 'mix and match' with organs, skin, flesh and fluids. The two were laid out on tables next to each other. Isabel had hoped they were dead, but… no. The fluid that was being pumped in and out of their bodies on corrupted 'life support' systems was moving. Their chests, ribcages exposed and covered with a thin sheet of plastic, were swelling with breath as their visible lungs expanded with air.

Her hands went to her mouth, as she looked away.

"They desired immortality. I have granted their wish." Dracula turned her to look at him, and narrowed her eyes down at her. "Do you feel such for the suffering of all, or do you feel some particular kindness towards them?"

"I'd- Look, that's sick and disgusting and it doesn't matter who you did that to-" Isabel shook her head as came to a horrible realization. "I… I just realized I don't… even remember their names…" They were the reason they were in this mess - their stupid job for that stupid sword, and she couldn't even remember what the hell their names were. Somehow that made her feel worse - feel more responsible for their plight.

"Come. This place is filled with suffering. Theirs is neither unique nor the worst I could show you." Dracula turned her towards the doorway, where the sewn-together creature was waiting for them, watching their scene play out. "You may decide your opinion on the matter another time."

Isabel tried not to look at the figures on the tables by the wall as he lead her out of the room, instead wrapping her arms around herself. She had her gloves - but no coat or sleeves. The small back room that she was taken to was filled with hanging totems from the ceiling. Charms and constructs of bone, rock and wood, trinkets with archaic symbols scratched on their surfaces.

The monster shuffled around the room, opening jars and peering into them, muttering to himself. "Sit on the table, missy-" he instructed her as he pulled things from dusty, crooked shelves. Isabel glanced up at Dracula, who only nodded once, confirming the instruction.

Letting out a wavering breath, she stepped forward and climbed onto the table in the center of the room, trying not to think about how many people had died and been tortured upon it. She was glad she had her gloves - they saved her from having to find out.

It felt like every bad doctor's appointment in the world, all rolled into one. "So," the creature began from behind her, and she turned her head to watch as it picked up a wood cage on a table and shook it - and whatever was inside squeaked and struggled. It laughed, put the cage down, and moved on. "You're the one who broke the Well, eh?" Its accent was thick - which its counterpart did not share in.

"I didn't mean to," she responded, trying not to sound defensive. "I don't remember doing it."

"I don't s'pose as you do," he put down a couple of jars in front of a mixing bowl, his back to her, and began plucking things out of the jars and stirring them together in the bowl in front of him. The room smelled disgusting, and whatever was in those jars made it worse. Isabel put the back of her hand to her nose and tried not to retch.

"I haven't seen that well run dry in all my years - I don't know as anybody has. Maybe it'll fill back up. Probably will. Enough deaths here to fill it again soon, I picture." He sniffed the bowl, grumbled, and went to go fetch another jar. "I don't know why the Master be puttin' you in that fountain to begin with, girl - but I reason that's why you're here now. Too much soul for such a little body."

He poured the contents of another jar into the mixing bowl, stirred it, sniffed it, seemed better pleased with it this time, and took a pile of sticks and shoved them into the mess. He turned and walked towards her with the bowl of sticks and what looked like roadkill and black jam - and smelled foul. He placed it in her lap. "Hold that."

Isabel reached out and gently took hold of it. "I'm not eating it," she warned him.

"Pah!" the creature laughed and shook his head. "No, no, that won't be needed." He turned, and came back with a flint and striker, and held them over the bowl. Once, twice, and the stuff in the bowl lit in the shower of sparks. The goop that had mixed with the twigs and herbs caught like burning oil - and the smell was vile.

Isabel turned her head, trying not to yack into the bowl of burning goop. After the first jet of flame, it seemed to calm down - turning from bright flame to a smouldering flicker. The smoke that rose up from it smelled not nearly as bad as it had before.

"You need to be in that smoke, girl… We need to see what you've got inside you."

Isabel sighed, and straightened back up. The smoke stung her eyes and she squeezed them shut - and just tried to stay calm. Just tried to breathe. The smoke tasted like ash and burnt herbs - but luckily didn't taste any worse than that.

Suddenly, it felt like something had grabbed her around the heart and yanked. She gagged, and breathed in more of the smoke in one gulp, and the feeling got worse. It was like something was trying to tear her open. It wasn't a physical pain - but one that cut straight to her soul. She fought back as best she could, struggling to keep the thing from tearing her apart.

"No, girl… No. Let go. Let it be."

"I can't-" Isabel gasped, and the more of the smoke she breathed, the worse the pain became.

"Breathe it all in girl. You're strong. I see that. But you gotta stop strugglin.'"

Isabel tried her best to relax, but whatever it was that was pouring into her body from that smoke tore at her body and her mind.

The contents of the bowl in her lap flared up - and burned a vicious black, and the smoke seemed to… swirl in front of her. She went to beg Dracula to make this stop - but the tendril of black smoke in front of her saw its opportunity and took it - diving down her throat.

The bowl clattered, empty and clean to the ground as her hands dove to her throat as she felt it rip through her like fire.

Isabel's mind went white with pain.

* * *

Vlad watched as the creature did its work. Watched with passive authority as it mixed the ingredients in the bowl and set about its goal. When the smoke had entered Isabel - he had fought the urge to step forward.

He felt his share of the pain that knocked her unconscious. But she did not collapse. Instead, she sat there, head rolled to one side, shoulders limp, eyes staring unseeing at the ground.

"Come forward!" the witchdoctor commanded, speaking to whatever it was inside of her. "Leave her body be, ghost!"

"Why don't you come in here and _make me?"_ a voice responded from her - in her voice, and yet not. "And I'm not a ghost. I'm something _new._ " A cruel smile twisted across her lips as her hand darted for a knife that sat next to the table. She moved to slash the creature's throat open - but Vlad was faster, snapping a hand around her wrist and stopping the blow. "Too slow!" 'Isabel' whined. Vlad supposed that this was the creature she had named Wraith. "This body is _too slow._ "

"Then give it up," Vlad growled. "And find yourself another."

"Bitch _please-_ " Wraith said with a dramatic sigh. "Of course I wanna find another. I don't wanna be stuck in her body. I wanna _be in_ her body, and I can't do that at the same time, now can I? Hey, how is it, by the way? She any good? Or should I go find somebody else?"

Vlad resisted the urge to deck her. It would be counterproductive at best. He narrowed his eyes, and hissed angrily through his teeth. "Watch your tongue."

"Yeah, sure, whatever." Isabel looked down at herself, became distracted and snickered. "I have tits." Suddenly, she gagged, and coughed. "Hey… that hurts!"

Vlad turned, following Wraith's ire - to see the witch doctor now standing over his altar, chanting something low, and swirling his hands about.

"Hey!" Wraith cried. "Quit it!" She then snarled angrily, and tried to leap off the table to attack the witch doctor. Instead, Vlad easily slammed her back to the table, pinning her wrists to her sides. 'Isabel' howled and thrashed, kicking violently, face twisted in hatred. "This body is _weak and fragile_ and I will kill you all for this!"

"Work quickly," Vlad snarled at his minion by the wall. The witch doctor finally turned, and walked towards them with a bundle of objects tied in twine in his hands. He was still chanting, eyes rolled into the back of his head.

With a gesture, he snapped the bundle in half - and Isabel screamed. But it wasn't just one scream - it was two. Two different notes at the same time - hers, joined by the voice of a man howling in pain. The black smoke rushed out of her mouth, swirling around the ceiling of the room.

"We must contain it-" the witch doctor cried, and turned to get another tool. Before Vlad could react, the smoke dove from the ceiling and tore through the chest of the witch doctor - blowing a hole straight through the fragile body of the stitched-together and rotted corpses. He gurgled and collapsed. Wounded, but not dead. The smoke swirled again, lingering by the door. A voice spoke, distant but clear.

"This isn't over."

Vlad sighed, and lowered his head, still grasping the wrists of Isabel, now unconscious on the table. Truer words were never spoken - for him, it never seemed to end.

* * *

When she woke up, she could have almost sworn she was having a flashback. She was laying on his chaise lounge, pillow under her head, blanket pulled up over her. Who knows how long she had slept for. Hours? Days?

Running her hand along her eyes, she finally managed to blink her eyes into focus. The fire was low, but still burning. There was no one else in the room - although she had to check twice, peering into the shadows of the room to see if he were looming somewhere amongst the stark contrasts of light and dark.

He couldn't have been gone long - the fire wasn't out.

Voices in the other room. She slipped her legs off of the chaise lounge, she stood up, and walked towards the door that lead into another room. Dracula's living quarters were large and lavish, she saw - but at least they were far more tastefully decorated than Carmilla's attempt to unseat Versaille.

Isabel knew that attempting to hide her presence was fruitless. She assumed that even if she was attempting to be quiet, he could hear her coming from a mile away. The door to the other room was open, and as she approached, she heard a voice she didn't recognize.

"We have halted the advance of the Castle at your command, Master."

"What else do you have to report?" Vlad's voice. Isabel stood by a bookcase, not rounding the corner, not wanting to intrude.

"The scouts say that we are keeping the humans easily at bay. Their technology has increased, but their wisdom has shrunk. The soldiers they send inside the walls are easy meat, and our new 'conscripts' are happy for the practice hunts. Their heavy artillery is useless against the castle walls. It seems all legend of our existence has faded. No sign or whispers of a Belmont or Helsing."

"Good."

Nervousness on the part of the other speaker. Trepidation. "There is the matter of your… son, Sir. He is still roaming unchecked inside these walls."

"And he will continue to do so. He cannot pass into the keep without my permission."

"If I may be so bold, Sir, you've granted that permission in the past, and-"

"Enough. He will not pass. Ensure that _your_ defenses are prepared, Walter - and allow me to deal with my own concerns."

"Very well, Sir." A pause, and with a whirl of what sounded like wings, she felt the other man leave.

"You may come out now, little dove," Vlad spoke after the other man had gone. "You hide poorly - I can sense your thoughts."

"I wasn't hiding," she defended herself as she walked into the other chamber. Vlad was standing at a table in a vest and shirt without his usual long coat, looking down at a table with scattered papers. "I didn't want to interrupt."

"Hrm," Dracula replied, distractedly, looking down at the documents.

Isabel hadn't seen a flicker of movement in the corner of her vision since she had woken. She all too keenly remembered the incident with the witch doctor - the pain, the smoke, and then nothing.

Vlad was leaning heavily on the table, his head half-lowered, burdened. Isabel walked up to him and placed her hand on his arm. "Is it gone?"

"It has left your body."

Isabel understood the weight of those words. It meant that 'Wraith' was now loose in the castle… and god only knew what could happen now. "Can I ask you something?"

"My willingness to answer has never stopped you before," he said, not turning to her.

"Why let Adrian roam around unchecked? I saw him lose to Lyon… You have people who can beat him, even if you don't want to do it yourself."

"He is my son. I cannot condemn him to death," he said, still not turning to look at her. "You know that."

"Then why make him run circles in the wings? Unless-" and then, suddenly, it made sense. "Oh."

Dracula sighed, and lowered his head, putting a hand to his forehead, looking very much like he had a migraine that he wished would go away. He didn't speak, and it was her turn to be drawn out by his silence. "You're keeping him in the wings as, what, an insurance policy? If you're forced to do something you don't want to do - you let him in to kill you?"

"Hrmh," was his only response.

"Or it's about as close to him as you can get without a fistfight breaking out. Have you tried, y'know, talking to him?"

"And what good do you believe that will do?"

Isabel sighed, and shook her head. "He's an idiot, and you're an asshole. No wonder you two are stuck in this endless cycle."

"You believe simply 'talking' to him will fix this? I have been trapped in this endless pattern for _centuries,_ only to drag him into it with me."

"I believe it can't hurt to try," she responded, walking towards him and resting her hand on the table near his. She wondered if he would lash out and strike her, but she doubted it. So she put a hand gently on his back. "I believe it's always worth a shot."

They stood in silence for a long moment before he spoke. "We shall see."

"Stubborn," she scolded, and looked down at the table at all the papers in front of him. Some looked like reports of the city - sketches of things scouts had seen. But mostly, they were letters with envelopes marked with names and scripts that looked as though they were all written by different people - each in their own handwriting, some looked antiquated in style - some new.

"My children write home," he answered her curiosity and she looked to see him smirking idly. "Each of them hearing of my return, write to know their place or beg for power, pleading their loyalty. Each one in turn hails my return to life as a boon, each one _filled with lies._ "

He hissed the last words angrily through his teeth, and Isabel almost recoiled at the rage there. Sharp nails scraped the surface of the table as he crumpled a paper and tossed it away. Vlad straightened suddenly, and looked at her curiously. "You can detect lies when spoken, can you not?"

"... Yeah?"

Isabel let out a small yelp as he picked her up and put her down on the table, moving to stand in between her legs as he looked down at her with a pensive expression. One hand rested against her hip, the other was now toying with a strand of her hair. The sudden movement was disorienting - she didn't know if she'd ever get used to how quickly he moved.

"And if a lie were to be spoken by one wishing to conspire against me - would you tell me so?"

Isabel blinked, looking up at him curiously. What was he asking her? Was she loyal to him? Would she help another vampire kill him? Hide the lies, or protect him? Isabel looked away from his red eyes, boring into her.

"Well?"

She took a moment to consider the whole. He had hunted her - stole her friends and perverted them into monsters. He had _tortured_ her. Kept her prisoner. He was responsible for the death and suffering of thousands of people both innocent and guilty. Would she protect him?

If he showed her the door right now, would she be sad to leave?

"I don't know…" was all she could respond.

A finger under her chin tilted her head to look up at him. She expected anger - bitterness. What she saw was a faint smile. "The truth. Good."

A hand around the back of her neck and he kissed her - hot with a passion that made up for his cool skin. His hand around her hips pulled her towards him, and she moaned against his lips as she felt him press against her. One of her hands was gripping the fabric of his vest at his waist, the other resting on his chest as he kissed her.

He broke the kiss slowly, instead moving his lips to her ear, and gently taking the lobe into his mouth, biting down onto it with a low growl in his throat. She shuddered, feeling like putty in his hands. "When you know the answer… I will set you free… Or I will make you mine… the choice is yours."

She knew what she would do eventually, it was just a matter of what she was willing to trade for it.

"I have a bargain to make with you…" she had no idea where the thought popped into her head. But it did.

"Oh?" he sound enormously pleased. With another low growl in his throat that sounded more animal than man, he lowered his head to graze his teeth along her neck - threatening but not biting down. Isabel didn't want to begin to admit what it did to her.

"This castle can travel, right? Pick it up and move it… to some desolate, empty place. Somewhere it won't do any harm. Northern Canada. Greenland, the south pole, the outback the moon - I don't care… somewhere it'll stop killing innocent people. Do that, and I bet I can convince Adrian to go, if you'll let me try."

He laughed once in his throat, and pulled his head back from her throat, hovering his lips over hers as he spoke, his breath cool against her skin. "And what do I gain in exchange?"

Isabel couldn't barely believe the word that left her mouth. "Me."

Vlad laughed. "I already _have_ you, my dear."

"No, you don't… not all of me. Not yet. I know what you're planning… You want to make me like Tim - a companion. You want someone who'll live halfway, with you, for eternity. But you need me to be willing, don't you?"

He paused, caught off guard. His face still close to hers, stopped like a moment in time - not even breathing. Isabel counted the seconds before he finally answered her. "Yes."

"Then… that's the deal."

"There is no returning from such things," Dracula warned. "There is no escape but death."

"You said it yourself, didn't you? That was the only escape I was ever going to have."

He laughed again, and rested his forehead against hers. "Remarkable child," his lips met hers again in a slow kiss, parting again after a long embrace. "To play me so well at my own game." He pulled back, looking down at her with a muddled expression of passion and curiosity. He stroked her hair back away from her face. "Very well. I will let you speak to my son… I will let you try. If you succeed - and he agrees to leave this place, or cease his aggressions - I will upend this place to somewhere it will do no harm."

Isabel let out a breath, not really sure what she had gotten herself into. "Besides, better to sort out this whole... 'Wraith' thing, somewhere there aren't armies trying to bomb you."

"Wise beyond your meager years."

"I have a lot of lives worth of memories buzzing around my head, don't forget," she grumbled.

"Yes, yes," he grabbed her legs and pulled, sliding her forward and knocking her off balance, falling back onto the table with a startled 'unf!' "Now be quiet." He leaned down over her, and his lips met hers with a fiery, impatient hunger.

Isabel's head swam with the heat that rushed her body, and kissed him back, no longer fighting her own desire. No longer denying to herself what she felt when he touched her. No longer denying the pleasure in the fear and the thrill of the danger that he brought.

His sharp nails ripped her shirt to shreds, hungry for what lay underneath. One of his claws had nicked her skin, and his lips left hers to find the wound. She moaned, deep in her throat as his tongue lapped at the wound along her breast. Reflexively - not really understanding what she was doing, she wrapped her legs around his waist and squeezed, pulling his arousal hard against her body, against the heat she felt growing there.

He snarled, his lips breaking from her body for a moment. "You will be the death of me…"

"Promises, promises…" she replied through a breathy laugh.


	14. Chapter 14

**Hi all! Couple of things before we jump into it.**

 **FIRST: This chapter is very M for violence, language, and Wraith _is not a nice guy._ It doesn't get too graphic, but you've been warned!**

 **Second, Sorry for the long delay. A big project of mine at work is going into crunch / install - so I'll be MIA for the next couple weeks. I'll be back, though, I promise. To make up for it, this chapter is longer than usual, and it's a doozy.**

 **Enjoy! Drop me a note if you feel obliged. :)**

* * *

What was wrong with her?

Isabel asked herself that question repeatedly that morning as she woke up in the arms of the king of vampires. As she showered, dressed, and as he brought her food. Vlad had even brought her coffee - oh, blessed coffee.

It all felt… okay. Better than that, if she were honest - it felt good. He was terrifying, and he always would be. Like a tiger - beautiful, powerful, and immeasurably deadly. He could, for any reason, end her with a gesture. But for now, this tiger seemed keen on having her at his side. There was a kindness in his eyes when he brought her the hot caffeinated liquid she had missed so much, and he felt proud of himself as she kissed him in gratuity. She surprised herself at how genuinely she had meant the gesture. How rich she sensed his response of happiness.

She studiously reminded herself that he had maimed and murdered thousands by hand - let alone the countless numbers he had sent to a violent death at the hands of the creatures he commanded.

And yet… she was beginning to enjoy his closeness. His touch. Beginning to understand his complex moods and his far more complicated history.

Isabel held the cup and lifted it to her lips, relishing in the smell as she sipped the wonderful liquid. Vlad was standing by the window, looking out at the night sky. He spoke, without turning to look at her. "I have a request to make of you."

She looked up from her coffee. "Yeah..?" What could he possibly want that he was asking for? He 'took' things, not asked for them. Isabel couldn't think of one moment where he had honestly _asked_ her to do anything.

"I must spend this day and many to follow listening to the pleas of my 'children.' They are fearful of my return - they all have their own meager empires or their own interests. I trust none of them."

"And you want me to tell you if they're lying?"

Vlad sighed, deeply. His mood was as dark as his expression as he watched the city in its perpetual darkness. "It will be a long, irksome affair."

"Threaten me with a good time, why don't you?" Isabel said with a smirk as she sipped her coffee. He had asked her the night prior if she would tell him the truth when faced with a lie that meant him harm. He had asked if she would protect him. Honestly, she didn't know the answer yet. She probably wouldn't until she was faced with the issue first-hand. It seemed he wanted to know 'sooner' rather than 'later.'

"I was not threatening-" he began, then paused, catching himself. "Sarcasm. I see." He sounded cold - and she looked over at him quizzically - he was moodier than usual.

"I'll go. It beats hanging out locked in a room for hours," she grinned, sarcastic again. When he said nothing, and kept staring out the window, she put down her cup and walked up to him. It wasn't until she touched his arm that he turned to look at her. Isabel could feel the pain, the rage and the hatred pouring off of him now that she was closer to him. He was not in the mood for her sarcastic quips. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I'd like to go with you."

"What do you apologize for?"

"I didn't mean to upset you - I'm being rude. I shouldn't be. I'm sorry."

Dracula sighed, and his expression softened, as he raised a hand to gently run the back of his knuckles against her cheek. "You apologize to me for your manners… I think not. I think you apologize for my mood, and that is not your blame to bear. Nor shall it ever be so." He leaned forward and placed a kiss against her forehead. He straightened up, his mood darkening again. Quixotic as ever. Once more the Dark Lord. "Come, let us get this over with."

* * *

The throne room was certainly something to behold. " _Holy shit-"_ she had burst out as they appeared in the grandiose hall, and thad had sent Vlad laughing despite himself - never having heard those particular words in that combination before.

"That is certainly a new way to blaspheme," he said with a grin, as he walked across the crimson carpet that ran between the towering columns of gold and blazing fire. The throne itself was carved into a massive sculpture of demons and creatures devouring each other - much like the door that had stood guard to is tomb.

The hall wasn't empty, although there were no faces she recognized. Well, save one - Lyon, the priest. He was standing near the throne, waiting for his master to arrive. As Vlad approached - looking ever the part of the King of Vampires - the priest bowed low at the waist, one hand folded in front of him, the other at his back. Vlad's long black coat barely touched the ground as he walked. He had adopted quickly to an only somewhat-classic, formal garb. 'No reason to appear as outdated as they believe me to be,' he had commented as she had fixed his crimson vest.

Isabel stood awkwardly for a moment, not sure where to go. A motion from the priest towards her, and she walked up the steps to stand near him. She rubbed a gloved hand up her bare arm. Vlad would still not let her wear sleeves or anything that would protect her from accidental touch. She had no doubt that rumors had circulated about her, and it was also a warning to them. 'Hands off.'

The priest smiled faintly as she approached, and as she seemed to want to hide behind his height. "I assume such conduct of court is foreign to you."

"It's foreign to most people now," she replied. "I guess the closest thing would be something like a corporate meeting, which can be just as… intimidating. But not nearly as _over the top_ as something like this…"

"I am glad this is a practice that has largely died out. It is a foolish notion, and one that does not garner the respect that it seems to demand," the priest said, matter-of-factly.

"Do try not to debase my position to her, Lyon," Dracula said from the throne, dryly. "At least not in my presence."

"Merely expressing the truth, my lord. As you have told me she can sense lies where they are told." Lyon had said that particularly loudly for his normally quiet demeanor - and she realized quickly it was a setup. He was saying that to warn the others in the room as to exactly _why_ she was present.

It was probably weird, otherwise. For him to appear with his human 'pet' in tow. Looking around the room at the vampires and monsters that stood along the walls, or in groups, watching Vlad warily - she realized exactly how very little, how very powerless she actually was.

Isabel made the mistake of reaching out towards the crowd, scanning the room for feelings and realized that many… _many_ of them wanted her dead. Not because they had any problem with _her_ specifically. No. Because they wanted to hurt Vlad. Because they wanted one more obstacle removed. Or because they just wanted to eat someone in general.

Feeling the color drain from her face, she reflexively took a step away from them, and felt a gentle hand on her gloved wrist. Lyon. Looking up at the tall, pale man, he smiled faintly down at her. The reassurance was clear. 'Stay by me. They will not touch you.'

Isabel did her best to swallow her fear. With one, faint nod, she fought the urge to curl into a ball and hide. Tried her best to straighten up, and not cower like a complete moron. But in no way, did she want to be noticed.

Vlad had said it would be a 'long, irksome affair.'

He hadn't been joking.

First, a vampire would step forward, and announce some _other_ vampire. Usually with some long string of introductions informing Vlad exactly who the hell this person was, and why they mattered. 'Lord Regent of the Northern region of blah-blah, patron of the blah-blah, sired by the blah-blah bloodline.'

Isabel quickly gathered that the vampires had long since divvied up the world into different 'territories.' It was straight up, old-fashioned feudalism. A vampire 'lord' or 'regent' was in charge of lesser-whatevers, and they were in charge of making sure that their kind didn't get out of hand and attract too much attention. Or wipe out a civilization. Y'know. Little details like that.

The problem seemed to be that their 'king' had been dead for over a hundred years - and absent from his throne for many hundred more - and they had learned to cope in his absence. But now he was _back_ \- and it had sent their delicate balance into chaos.

So buried inside their stupid titles, manners and etiquette, deep-seated agendas burned away. Political games that had spanned more time than a human life were threatened now that Dracula had returned. Veiled comments flowed, easy to see through - ones not even worth pointing out to Dracula that they were false. But Isabel understood why he thought she might be useful. All these lies, all the carefully crafted falsehoods, were useless in front of her.

But that wasn't the worst part.

The worst part was them debasing themselves in front of Dracula to… what, win his favor? And man, they were some over-the-top _platitudes._ It was all _utterly_ pointless, and the disdain and sheer boredom pouring off of Vlad was what started her urge to laugh.

'My most revered Lord,' 'Blood King,' 'Daywalker' - she'd have to ask Vlad about that one - to her favorite stupid title yet, 'Master of All The Night.'

Isabel had to try very hard not to snicker. It took every ounce of her will to keep a straight face.

 _Do contain yourself, little dove._ Vlad spoke into her mind. He, of course, could sense her glee and sarcastic enjoyment at the situation.

 _This is so stupid it's funny,_ she responded. _Don't they understand you don't give a flying fuck?_

 _Fascinating turn of phrase. I wonder if that is a practical suggestion._ Vlad didn't even budge in his seat as he responded to her, still 'listening' the vampire talk in front of him. _While your outburst of laughter at one of these fools would be terribly enjoyable, it would not bode well. I am trying to end this evening without tearing someone's head off._

Isabel chewed on her lip and had to look away to hide her smile. She'd heard that phrase used before - 'trying not to tear someone's head off.' But _generally_ people said it in the metaphorical sense. Not literally. He, undoubtedly, meant it _very_ literally.

 _Gotcha, Boss._ Isabel responded and finally swallowed her giggle.

A flash of confusion from Vlad. He had no idea what 'Boss' meant. She'd explain it later.

Two more people came and went, before finally she felt someone step up with any kind of intense emotion besides 'fear.' Fear was a complex emotion. There is an entire spectrum of emotions that live under that simple, overlying term. The man that approached was not giving off the fear that she knew so personally - the fear of Dracula. This was something else… the fear of being _caught._ It was a high-pitched kind of feeling, like an engine running too hot. _Maybe. Maybe he'd get away with it. Maybe nobody would find out. Maybe this would work._

Her sudden interest was echoed in Vlad, as he picked up on her new focus on the vampire that approached the stairs to the throne. The vampire himself was unremarkable. Attractive, sure, in the way that everyone on TV is attractive. But forgettable. "I am Gregory McClain, my Lord," he bowed at the waist. His accent matched his last name. "I am honored to be welcome here in your hall. I come in hopes you may settle a dispute."

With a bored gesture from Vlad, Gregory kept speaking. "I have been driven from my territory by a usurper who claims he has rightful reign. I have proof he is wrong. I have been unable to obtain the power to unseat him - I am here to beg-"

"I understand what you wish from me." Dracula cut him off, uninterested in more explanation.

"I have the letter here-" the man produced an old, faded envelope from his coat pocket.

Isabel sensed danger the moment before it landed. She let out a begrudging sigh, knowing _exactly_ what Vlad was about to make her do.

 _So do not make my request public._

His voice echoed in her head and she knew that he'd benefit from her assisting him without his request. So, she'd play along. She had agreed to, anyway. Isabel walked down the stairs towards the vampire, and took off one of her gloves as she did. Gregory looked terribly confused - and insulted - at the fact that a _human_ woman was approaching him.

"Speak to me of what you know, my dear - and speak your words _aloud_ ," Dracula cut off her question before she could ask it in their silent form of communication. "So that all may see how deceit has become a fruitless venture."

Isabel marveled at the fact that he could say something that dramatic and not sound ludicrous. Instead of voicing her sarcasm, she decided to play the game.

Looking at Gregory - who still glared at her with disdain, she tilted her head to the side. "He's nervous. Afraid. But not like the others. Not like the ones who've come here afraid of what you can do. No. He's afraid you'll _find out._ "

"Continue." Dracula leaned forward in his throne slightly - the first time he had moved.

"This is absurd-" Gregory tried to interject, but Vlad snarled and slammed his fist into the arm of the chair. She was impressed it didn't shatter.

Isabel held out her bare hand for the letter - and Gregory was very hesitant to hand it to her. He wasn't sure what was happening, or what he was falling into. Why she wanted it - and why she had taken off a glove.

"Give it to her," Vlad demanded.

Gregory, given no choice, put the envelope in her hand. The moment it hit her skin, she half-shut her eyes as she saw a vision in front of her. Saw who had penned the letter, so nervous - so afraid. So angry. So _righteous._ "He believes he is the rightful owner of the territory. That isn't a lie. He believes he deserves it. This letter… is written by the sire of the… vampire who controls 'his' territory at the moment. Naming Gregory as the successor."

"I could have told you _that-_ " Gregory snarled. "You stupid, pathe-"

"Problem is-" Isabel interrupted him, snapping out of her vision. He looked entirely put-out by being interrupted by a human, and she grinned at him, enjoying what was about to come. From what she could gather, he had this coming. Isabel crumpled up the letter in her hand and dropped it at Gregory's feet. The vampire gasped, and snarled as she turned her back on him to walk away. She finished with a mild shrug, pulling her glove back on. "It's a forgery."

"This is slander! A lie! Who is she-"

" _Silence._ "

The one word, issued from Vlad, shook the room to its core. It was like the walls themselves resonated with his command. And for all she knew - they had. The castle listened to its Master, after all.

Isabel focused on walking back up to where she was before, although her steps may have hitched in momentary fear. Everyone else shared in the same trepidation at the outburst. Dracula commanded respect. That was never in question.

"Kill him," Vlad finally spoke. The verdict was spoken with a bored detachment. It took no time for a creature - who was all fangs, and teeth - three eyes on one side of his head, moved towards Gregory.

The vampire who had been condemned staggered backwards - shrieking as the demon leapt atop him. Isabel turned her face away and cringed at the noise of bone snapping. At the sound like wet meat hitting a cutting board. At the sound of the vampire screaming in pain, only to be cut off with one final _crunch_. Then, just the wet sound of a creature eating its dinner.

Isabel kept her face turned away, trying not to focus on the horrific sounds of a man being _eaten._ Isabel tried not to feel sick.

Vlad stood from his throne, and took a few steps forward to the edge of the raised platform. He held out his hands as he addressed the crowd - his voice low. He did not need to raise it - there was no doubt that he would be heard. "This is the price one pays for a single lie. Imagine the cost for _many._ I recommend you consider your games carefully, 'children.' I recommend you all reconsider your next moves."

Dracula walked from the platform and off to the side - to a doorway that Isabel hadn't seen before. There were other chambers directly attached to this one.

Some official looking creature - she wasn't sure if he was a vampire or not - stepped forward. "Lord Dracula has issued a one hour recess."

A murmur from some of crowd, but mostly fearful silence. Isabel looked up at the priest, unsure of what to do. He was looking out at the crowd, studying the faces - taking a careful read of the situation.

 _Come._

Isabel winced as the word carried through her mind. It was an order, not a question. Isabel bristled at that, bristled as she wanted to reflexively obey. The command rang through her like an instinct, and it took everything she had not to immediately start walking. As much as it bothered her he could do that - she decided to let it go. After what she had just seen - he was accustomed to ordering people around. And with that kind of demeanor, no kidding… With a sigh, she walked after Vlad. After she crossed the platform, a voice caught her attention.

"Hey-"

Isabel turned. It was Tim - Maverick's companion. The one who had died before her eyes - and was now brought back alive by the Castle, for who-knows-what reason. "Tim?" she asked, smiling. "It's good to see you." Isabel meant it. She knew so few faces - let alone somewhat friendly ones.

"Right back at you, toots," Tim said with a grin, shoving his hands into his pockets. "So hey, I saw what you did - freaky."

"Thanks…?" Isabel replied, not sure if it was a compliment or not. "What're you doing here?"

"Mav's here - him and Aria. Concerned about what'll happen to their 'territory' now that we're all stuck here in this place. I dunno. Mav's still pissed to shit about the whole thing, I don't really care. It's kinda nice, not worrying about all the petty bullshit. Hey - so - are you and Dracula on good terms? Looks like it."

"It's… complicated…" Isabel admitted, not really sure how to explain it.

Tim laughed hard. "Toots, it's _always_ complicated with people like them. Being that old fucks with your head." He got serious for a second. "Hey, uh - I'm sure you're going after him, but - I'd like to talk to you when you get a sec."

Isabel blinked, curiously - he seemed really uncomfortable all of a sudden. "What's up?"

"It's about what he's trying to do to you. Turn you, I mean."

"What, to a vampire?" Isabel blinked. "I don't… I don't think so, he's never brought it up."

"No. Not to a vampire," Tim sighed and rubbed the back of his neck with a hand, clearly feeling awkward about the conversation. "If he was gunna do that, he'd have done it by now. I mean, turn into something like me."

"A.. 'companion' or whatever?"

"Right. The whole 'can sense your feelings, talk into your head' thing."

Isabel snorted. "He does that already _anyway._ "

"Really?!"

"It's because of what I am, I think."

"Well, but - look. There's a lot you need to know. Before you agree to do anything stupid," Tim said, looking far more upset than she had ever seen him before.

"Alright. I'll.. I'll try - he doesn't ever let me out of his sight."

"You're smart, toots. You'll figure something out." Tim smirked. "I'll be out in the hallway," he said with a jerk of his thumb to one side of the throne room. With that, he walked away.

Isabel sighed. Nothing was ever simple, was it? Shaking her head, she turned to walk through the doorway into what seemed like some sort of secondary meeting room. Dracula stood by a window, gazing once more out into the darkness, his hand resting on the stone window frame.

"What was the delay?"

Isabel tried not to bristle again at the question - she had to remind herself that no, she really didn't have any control over her own time. Not now, not for the foreseeable future. The matter was extremely complex and she pushed it off to another time. "Tim. Maverick's companion. We spent time together when I was briefly in Maverick's custody."

"And..?"

"He wanted to talk to me, in private." Dracula finally turned, his red eyes narrowed slightly. Clearly impatient for her to be more forthcoming. Isabel sighed, and shook her head. "He didn't really say why," she lied. She wanted to know what Tim had to say - especially considering how little she knew about what a 'companion' really was. Somewhere between 'Tim' and 'That guy who eats bugs in the book' wasn't really a good data set. "He was nervous. He said something about Maverick and his property - I don't know." That part was true.

"Hm," Dracula responded thoughtfully. Isabel was a superb liar - a gift that came to her by way of her hearing them so clearly. She knew the difference between a good one and a bad one. But she wasn't quite sure if he had 'bought' it or not. "How quickly the vultures move to levy your influence."

Isabel snorted. "Then the joke's on them, isn't it?" At an arch of Dracula's eyebrow, she explained. "One, it's a phrase. Two, meaning - if they think I have influence over you," Isabel shook her head. "They're sorely mistaken."

Dracula smirked, barely, and looked back out the window. "Go speak to him. Be gone no longer than twenty minutes." His voice lowered. "Or I _will_ come find you."

The threat was clear, and her throat tightened. The tiger showed his teeth again, and she nodded. Any 'games' on her part would not be tolerated. Walking away, she wondered if her lie was as seamless as she had thought.

No matter. It was a harmless one. She'd talk to Tim, hear what he had to say - and leave. Walking from the room, she made herself as invisible as possible and walked to the door that Tim had referenced, and through it to a small servant's hallway that seemed to run deeper into the castle.

Tim was leaning against the wall, his feet crossed at the ankles, looking every bit the greaser that he probably was 'back in the day.' A lit cigarette was stuck between his lips, completing the vibe.

Isabel walked up, and stood a little ways from him. "Alright - we have twenty minutes. He knows I'm here, he doesn't know why."

Tim nodded, took a drag from his cigarette and straightened up. "So. He wants to make you like me. A 'companion.' Bullshit term. Makes it seem nicer than it is."

Something had changed about him - something sounded different. But, maybe coming back from the grave would do that to you.

"He's drank your blood. A whole bunch, I bet. Never enough to kill you. Never enough really to hurt you. Dizzy, but you'd sleep it off. You drank his yet?"

"No."

"Good. That's how it's done. See, to make a vampire - they bleed you dry. Just to the brink of death - maybe in one go, maybe in a few if they want to be sick fucks about it. Then you drink their blood. That way, you get a full body mix of yours and theirs. All at once. Right?"

"Sure..?" Isabel followed, but wasn't sure where it was going. That seemed to be the theme lately.

"To make a 'companion' though - to make us a fuckin' _puppet_ \- they bleed you _slow._ Let you come back. Again and again. Till it feels normal. And then they start poisoning you. Like smallpox. A little bit at a time, and you won't catch it. Right?"

Isabel shook her head, and looked away from him, out at the city. "Look, Tim... "

"No, no, let me finish." Tim faced her, and puffed on his cigarette, and then pulling it from his lips, flicked it. "You're going to be his. For all time. Never get away. Never escape. Not even death'll let you go. This is fucking _Dracula_ we're talking about." Tim snorted. "Unless he gets bored of you - and he _definitely_ will-" Tim sidetracked, looking away. "I'm sure he knows a way out of it. Hell, this whole thing was made for him."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Isabel didn't like to think about the future - too far ahead, and no options looked good.

"Oh, he didn't tell you? This whole goddamn curse they can do to us was created, eons ago, because _he_ wanted to not be so 'lonely' anymore. He's tried to do this, time and time again, with dozens and dozens and dozens of girls, trying to make the perfect Bride of Frankenstein, and every time they go fucking _nuts_. Bet he didn't tell you _that,_ either." Tim snorted, sarcastically. "He treats them like science experiments. Tinkers with their insides until he thinks he's got it right. But it never works for him. His blood's too strong for anybody to become immune. So he's been tinkering and stitching and trying to get _just the right_ person to survive it. You're next on the list. Either way - me and everybody like me? All thanks to his god complex. We're all just watered down versions of him, after all."

"I don't know what's gotten into you, Tim-" Isabel started, but couldn't deny the cold feeling rushing through her. "Look, I don't know if you're pissed about being stuck here now - god knows I'm not thrilled either, but-"

"I have something I've gotta show you." Tim turned around and started towards the exit. "Come on. Won't take long, I promise. Then everything'll make sense."

Isabel gritted her teeth - and knew she shouldn't follow. Knew she should just go back to Dracula and tell him what happened. But what he had said - that she was just the latest in the long line of science experiments… She couldn't deny it was more likely than 'Dracula just liked her.' Isabel cursed herself for being an idiot, in more ways than one. No matter what she did, either way she lost.

She followed Tim, letting out a wavering breath as she made her choice. He lead them through doors and down hallways, down a flight of stairs. She was becoming lost. Oh great. "Tim-" she tried to talk to him, but he raised a hand to shush her as they walked.

And so, she followed him in silence, dwelling over what he had said. 'He's been tinkering and stitching and trying to get just the right person to survive it,' Tim had said. Dracula had told her, verbatim, that he had tortured her to see if she was strong enough 'to survive him.' That alone was reason enough to see what Tim had to show her.

The more she thought about what he had said, the more it made sense. Except for one thing. When she had stormed her way into his mind, she had seen maybe ten women - over four thousand years, that he had loved. Not dozens of girls, tortured and experimented on. The image of the fountain figures reaching out to her, with their stone hands and empty, angelic expressions made her physically flinch as she was reminded that no, he was perfectly capable of torture.

Tim rounded a corner, and came to a large, wooden door with a golden symbol carved into it - Dracula's crest. Tim shoved the door once - to find it stuck. Then twice, then rammed his shoulder into it before it finally grunted free from the jamb.

It was a dark abyss on the other side. Tim reached into his pockets, fumbled for something, then 'ah!' as he pulled out his zippo lighter. With a practiced flick against his pants, he held the flame aloft.

"C'mon."

"Tim… I don't know."

"This is serious, Isabel…" he replied as he walked into the darkness. She watched from the doorway as he found torches along the walls, and lit them.

As her eyes adjusted to the dim room - she realized… it was lined with coffins. Glass coffins. Tucked into the walls like an ancient mausoleum. Each one containing the remains of what had once been a woman, judging by the jewelry, finery or emaciated flesh.

Isabel walked into the room slowly, the cold feeling that had run down her spine now encompassing all of her. There were, indeed… dozens. The room stretched into the darkness, and there was no telling how many there were in this hall of the dead. In his hall of lost 'brides.' Isabel had seen all the ones that he had loved - but what about the ones that he hadn't? Or hadn't had the chance? Would she be in one of them, soon enough?

Tim had looped around the room behind her, and finished lighting a torch. "So, yeah… do you believe me now?"

Isabel turned to look at him, and she blinked as something just looked… off about him. His shadow was cast against the wall - but it… the angle was wrong. Nothing else was casting a shadow at that angle. And it looked… just… weird.

In a place where so many things gave such little warning, fear instinctively took over. Tim paused mid-step as he approached her, like a cat watching its prey. He tilted his head slightly to the side, seeing her stiffen. "What's wrong?"

"Tim, are you telling me everything?"

"Ehm, I mean, no, not my whole life story. Didn't figure we had the time for that."

"You've made your point. He isn't to be trusted. I have a lot to talk to him about, and I won't… I won't agree to this until I've sorted it out. I'd like to go back now."

Tim sighed hard, and turn around. Looking at his shadow, he shook his head. "Fuck. Y'know, I really thought I did a better job…" Tim walked to the wooden door, and slammed it, jamming it back shut with a loud _wham._

The noise made her jump, and she realized suddenly she was very… very trapped. Surrounded by corpses.

"Oh well!" Tim exclaimed, and his tone sounded… weird. Different. Not him. He turned, and she recoiled as she realized his eyes were black - _entirely black._

"Wraith."

"Kudos! You figured it out!" 'Tim' began to slow clap. "I took the first body I could find that you'd _listen to._ This stupid shit was pretty easy to blow down the door." 'Tim' looked down at himself. "Gotta say… this body… not the best. I liked my design better. But I guess, betters can't be choosers!"

Tim laughed - and Isabel's blood ran cold as she realized where she had heard that laugh before. A laugh that would make Vincent Price green with envy. Suddenly, he leapt at her like he was a teenager in a haunted house - and it made her shriek and recoil from him, staggering backwards.

That only sent him to giggles. "Oh, oh, I'm sorry… I'm sorry. I just had to. The look on your face is just - so - fucking - perfect. You're jumpy!" He started to walk towards her, which just made her walk backwards again. "C'mere."

"No."

"What're you afraid I'm going to do something you'll _like?_ " His voice dropped low into a growl, and she shuddered, stepping back again. "Where are you going to go, hotness?!" Wraith said with a laugh. "This place only has one door! And I'm between it and you. What're you gunna do, go running off into the darkness? I can see in the shadows. _You can't._ "

Isabel saw the logic in it - the inescapable logic. But she wasn't just going to let him corner her. So she took a defensive stance and held her ground.

Wraith stopped, and snickered. "Oh boy, oh boy… It's going to be fun breaking you." He walked towards her, slower this time.

Isabel waited, tried to remember every tip that Tex and the guys had shown her. Tried to remember every time they had a dust-up in the field. Tried to remember how to play dirty. "You can't touch me."

"I can. I've already seen every part of that silly head of yours. And you, mine. There's nothing left to see. And I plan on touching you. _A lot._ "

The way he said it left no argument for what he intended on doing. Isabel swallowed her fear. She could panic later. Now was not the time to lose her nerve.

He stepped within range, and she faked a kick. He went to block, and she elbowed him in the face. He recoiled with the hit, and she took off past him towards the door.

She made it to the ring, and grabbing it, yanked - once, twice, three times - begging. Pleading. Wishing and trying everything she could. Put her foot on the jamb, put all her weight into it - and it wouldn't budge. It didn't open outwards. Only inwards. And she didn't have the leverage.

One last desperate pull and-

Her head impacted the door.

Isabel crumpled, as Wraith bashed her head into the wood. She felt the floor underneath her, felt herself being pulled along the stone. When her vision began to clear, Wraith was sitting on top of her, straddling her upper legs, keeping her pinned to the ground.

"Get… the _fuck_ off me!" She managed to force out, her vision still dangerously wheeling around.

"Close, but no cigar!" Wraith said loudly into her ear and then straightened up with a cackle again. "See what I did there? Do you get what I'm about to do?" A hand snapped around her throat. "Or do I have to make it _painfully obvious?!_ "

Isabel thrashed, kicking underneath him, trying to push him off of her violently. He howled with laughter, and his fist met her face with a hard _thunk_. Her head snapped back against the stone and she felt her vision threaten to black out. He wasn't afraid to hurt her. She had to remember that. "I get it." Isabel growled at him as he loomed close to her. "You're just a fucking _coward._ " God, she needed her vision to clear.

Wraith snickered, and leaned into her face, licking up the side of her cheek to her ear, and whispering. "Careful… You're about to _really… really_ resemble that remark…"

Isabel watched, waiting, biding her time for the moment, as he sat back, and fished in his coat pocket. Pulling out a pocket knife, he flicked it open with a practiced gesture, and began running the tip of the blade along her collarbone.

Isabel's breath hitched, and she swore at herself silently for showing any kind of reaction.

"Oooh well, look at that… You like that?"

"Of course not."

"Doesn't matter if you do," Wraith observed, in a sing-song voice, tilting his head to the side as he watched the point of the knife trace along her skin. Pressing down a little harder, he began to scratch a line across the top of her breast, drawing blood, moving towards the strap of the blouse she had worn. "Just lay still. You don't even have to pretend to like it. Or pretend to hate it, for that matter. It's going to happen either way."

The knife slipped under the strap of her blouse, and he cut it loose, and wandered the knife towards the other side. "Why're you doing this?" Her vision was still blurry. Too blurry to do anything. But it seemed like he was keen on taking his time. Good, maybe she could use that. Slow it down.

"Call it an Oedipus complex," Wraith snickered and tore the other strap, and dragged the knife slowly down over her stomach over her shirt to the hemline, and began easily slicing the fabric in half from the bottom up.

He was paying attention to his handiwork, watching as he revealed her skin as he cut away at her shirt, inch by inch. He was distracted. Good. Using every ounce of strength she could summon, she grabbed his wrist, yanked, pulled him off balance and pulled a foot under them - planting it square in his stomach and shoving him off of her. He crashed into the stone wall next to her, and she took the opportunity to scramble to her feet.

Isabel didn't try to make it for the door again - she wasn't an idiot. She turned, and went for the knife he was holding. In trying to grab it, she knocked it from his hand - but in payment he grabbed her wrist. He was _laughing_ \- like this was the most fun in the world. Like it was a playful wrestling match. Ducking one swing of his fist, she kneed him in the stomach as hard as she could - but he barely budged. Instead, he only flashed her a sick smile and his fist met her face again, knocking her to the ground.

"Sorry, sugartits," Wraith said with a snicker as she felt his weight on top of her again. "That would've hurt Tim. But Tim ain't home right now. I gotta give you points though… That was pretty damn good. I mean. For someone like _you,_ anyway." He grabbed her wrists yanked them over her head - she felt something tighten around them, and she realized he had lashed her arms together with - something. God knows what. When she tried to move her arms, she blearily looked up - and saw that he had tied her wrists with a rope. Not effective in the long term - but all he needed.

"You keep your hands there. Or I cut off one of your fingers. Do you understand?" he glared down at her.

Isabel pulled her arms down, and he slammed them back painfully to the stone over her head. Suddenly the point of the knife was between her lips, and she froze.

" _I am not fucking kidding, girl,"_ he snarled. "You will lay there… you can cry, you can scream in pain, in pleasure, whatever you want… but you will _obey what I tell you._ "

Isabel grit her teeth, glaring in defiance, but didn't move. There had to be another way. Let him think he won.

"Good girl. Good sugartits," he snickered, and pulled the knife from between her lips. He let go of her wrists and gave her a moment to change her mind - before looking back down at her with a grin.

"Now, speaking of.." Wraith looked down at her, now in just her bra, and he clicked his tongue. "Mmh. So, I gotta know. Is this how it was with Drac the first time? Did he throw you to the ground, fuck you raw and ragged while you cried for mercy? Did he hypnotize you into sucking his cock like a porn star? Or was he some sweet and sappy lover, catering to your every whim? Hmmm?"

Isabel kept up her silent glare, which just made him laugh. He tapped the point of the knife on her nose. "Now don't make that face. I've got… like… countless thousands of lives of experience in how to screw a girl like this up here-" he pointed at his own head with his other hand. "So I'm going to be a goddamn _rockstar._ "

Wraith reached his hand down, and grabbed her breast, and squeezed it hard through her bra. Isabel winced, and looked away. It made him laugh again, as he kneaded her flesh roughly.

Isabel had begun carefully, barely, toying with the rope around her wrists. Finding the knots.

Wraith ran his knife under a strap of her bra and sliced it. The other followed quick suit. Straps dealt with, the knife went under the thin strip of fabric that connected the middle of her bra, and he sliced it in half with an easy flick of his wrist. He pulled the ruined fabric free of her and tossed it aside.

"Mmhn," he said appreciatively, and ran the tip of the knife down between her breasts. She twitched as he cut her, leaving a thin line of red against her skin. He lowered himself down to her, one hand on either side of her, and ran his tongue up her skin, tracing the red line.

Isabel could feel progress in the knot around her wrists. Wraith was too distracted with his new toy. Isabel winced, cringing as he moved to began circling his tongue around one of her nipples. Isabel turned her head away, and couldn't help but try and kick at him to get him off her.

A punch to the ribs, and the air was knocked out of her. She gagged, and groaned in pain as he looked up at her. "Stop. Goddamn. _Fighting!_ " He scolded her angrily. "The next time, I stab you. And don't think that means I won't still fuck you afterwards. Do you understand?"

Isabel was silent, her eyes shut, gasping for breath. "I _said-_ " His hand was in her hair, and it wrenched her head up to look at him. "Do you understand?!" he yelled into her face.

"Yeah.." she finally managed to get out. He let go of her hair, and smiled pleasantly down at her.

"Good! Now where was I…" He lowered his head back to her breast, and began hungrily attacking her skin - biting her nipple, which made her yelp in pain, drawing a laugh from him.

Isabel was still working on untying the rope on her wrists. He had done it quickly, hastily, and had paid little attention to the knots. She had picked off one of the knots, and was now working on the second one.

He had the knife under one of his hands, and was leaning on it as he lifted his other hand to squeeze and grope at her other breast - but quickly became bored with that and began undoing her pants.

She twitched and fought the urge to kick at him. He lifted his head, and 'tsked' at her. "Now now… remember... You fight, this knife goes into your kidney." Isabel did her best to lay still, and he cooed up at her like she was an animal. "Good girl…"

His hand finished undoing the fly of her pants, and he slipped a hand inside. "Heh," he snickered and pushed his face up towards hers again, hovering his lips near hers. "I bet you were wet for Drac when he did this. Oh well. I can make due." Pulling his hand back out, he kissed her, harshly. She laid there, unmoving - afraid that if she even turned her head, he'd make good on his threat to stab her.

Isabel was well through the second knot on her wrists, relying on his distraction to keep him from noticing her tinkering away. He sat up, looking down at her hungrily, and Isabel realized when she'd have her chance. The asshole needed two hands to undo his own pants.

Sure enough, he put the knife down on the ground next to her, and went to undo his fly.

With that, she yanked her hand free of the rope, and snatched the knife from the ground, driving the blade into the side of his neck. Wraith's eyes went wide, and he made a 'hork' noise, gagged, and coughed blood up onto her.

The hot liquid splashed down onto her as she drove the knife further into his neck, snarling in anger as she did - the adrenaline clearing her head fast.

Isabel had no idea, looking back at the moment, whether or not the roar of fire had happened just prior to, or just after her stabbing Wraith - or Tim, or both of them - in the throat with the knife.

Either way, it wasn't her who threw his body aside, finally removing the weight from on top of her.

Isabel's heart was pounding as laid there, the feeling of hot blood against her bare skin, up at the looming figure of Dracula in the darkness.

All she could see were his red eyes, reflecting the flame. She managed to sit up - or aptly, roll over to one side, and push herself up that way, her head lowered. It was spinning - she probably had a concussion. And a bruised rib, by the feeling of it.

Isabel pushed herself to standing - slowly, wincing. It wasn't until she was standing vertical that he moved - pulling his coat from his shoulders and slinging it around her. It was hysterically large for her frame, but she appreciated the gesture.

"I"m going to get blood on it," she muttered.

He did not answer for a painfully long time. "You find humor in this." A statement, not a question. He was a flurry of emotions - disappointment, rage, hatred pointed both inwards and outwards. The desire to protect her. The desire to hurt her.

"I find humor in the worst of things. I-" her knees gave out as the room swam, and she felt his arm wrap around her to hold her up. "I hate concussions."

A whirl of fire, and she was back in his chambers. He released her, letting her find her own way to the sofa. She sat down, happy for the large swath of black fabric to wrap around her. Although the blood was starting to get cold and sticky. But at least she wasn't in the dark room, filled with glass coffins of past attempts. Past hopes. Past versions of her. Her future. At least if he was going to kill her, it wouldn't be there, with the hollow, empty sockets of unseeing eyes looking at her.

Isabel had enough of things _looking_ at her. And so she stared at the carpet, not wanting to meet his gaze. Afraid of what she'd see there. Isabel truly had no idea where to begin. She felt… empty. She should feel a lot more for what had just happened to her. So, she started with facts. "It was Wraith," she commented.

"I know."

"If you're going to yell at me, hit me, kill me, or whatever, just… do it."

He was silent. So, she continued.

"He told me he needed to show me something. Tell me about what… what you're trying to do. He said he had information about you turning me into a 'companion' - or, whatever you want to call it." Isabel paused. "You think I betrayed you. I didn't. I want to go into this eyes open. And if someone - who has direct experience - wants to warn me… I would be a fool not to hear them out."

A roar of fire, and he was gone.

It was his sudden disappearance that was the last straw, and that caused the tears to roll down her cheeks. No. Quit it, she scolded herself, and swiped them off her face . Isabel let out a small, wavering breath - and decided she could cry later. Practical matters first. Clean off. Look at her bruises. Tex would be proud.

Now only if she could make it to the bathroom without falling over…

* * *

Every time she turned a corner in Dracula's chambers, she expected to find him looming there. And she wasn't sure if she was disappointed or not when he wasn't there. She had showered, dressed, gotten herself a stiff drink, and decided to get some air.

Stepping out into the night air, she felt the coolness against her face and she let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. God, it felt good.

"... Hullo."

Isabel screamed and whirled around, dropping her drink with a _crash_ against the stone.

Looking up - where the deep weird voice had spoken, she blinked at a giant…. Gargoyle… looming on the roof over the door she had just stepped through. It was a hulking mass of stone, and large wings that had no business being useful for something made out of rock. But Isabel couldn't fathom how else it had managed to get up there - even though its claws looked functional. It looked like someone crossbred a pitbull, a dragon and a boulder. And it seemed to have the demeanor of one, as it looked down at her flatly.

"... Sorry," it said, in the same stunted and… lumbering way as before.

"Uh… it's… it's okay. I wasn't… expecting you there. I've had a rough day."

"... Master said so. Master said you'd scream."

Isabel grumbled unkind things under her breath at that. "Alright… did your Master tell you why you were here?"

"... Grundo guard lady. Even if lady doesn't like it. Master said so."

Isabel sighed, and looked down at the shattered glass. "I'm Isabel. Nice to meet you. I'm going to go get a rag and another drink." Isabel walked off of the terrace, not honestly surprised. After all, she'd been attacked after wandering off. Of course he'd issue her a bodyguard.

At least it seemed content to stay outside.

After cleaning up the glass, and fixing herself another drink, she decided to sit on the thick stone railing of the terrace. The stone was about three feet thick, and she figured if she'd fell, 'Grundo' would just catch her anyway.

It wasn't long before she decided to just go fetch the bottle.

"Wanna glass, Grundo?"

"... Grundo no drink."

"I figured. Thought I should ask, though."

"... Grundo thankful."

Isabel smiled up at the clearly-less-than-bright gargoyle. "You're welcome."

Grundo wasn't chatty. And for that she was glad.

And so, she sat. Feet dangling off the edge, looking out over at the night sky - out at the castle, and what remained of Boston. It was horrific and cruel, and beautiful in its own weird way. Isabel knew she'd never condone the death, the suffering - but she had to learn to live with it, it seemed. This place was violent. She learned that - today, especially. And it was her world, now. At least for the time being.

So she kicked her feet idly, and raised the bottle of bourbon to her lips and took a sip. A glass had seemed a silly thing to bring, especially after breaking the last one.

A rustle next to her, and motion out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. This time, it wasn't a ghost - it was Vlad, who had appeared at some point and was now leaning on the railing near her. "I hope you are not developing a drinking problem," he observed dryly.

"After today, I deserve this."

"Fair."

Silence reigned for a long time, before she put the bottle down on the stone next to her. "Are we going to talk about what happened today?"

More silence. She had to look to make sure he hadn't disappeared again. He was staring out a the city, his face its usual dour mask.

"Are you angry with me?"

More silence. Isabel sighed, and shut her eyes for a moment, before looking out at the city. Alright. Fine. It was her play to make, it seems. "I'm sorry. I really am. I knew Tim wasn't really trustworthy. What I did was _beyond_ stupid. I don't need to be reminded or told. But if you aren't going to talk… I'm going to explain."

Still silence. So she shrugged, and kept talking. "You want me to trust you blindly. And you have to admit, I'm handling this whole scenario _really well._ Consider everything I've been through in the past few weeks. Do you blame me, for wanting to know the 'whole story' behind what you plan for me?"

Again, nothing. This time, she turned to look at him. She pulled off her glove and held out her hand to him. "Here. Full reign. Look inside my mind if you think I'm lying. That's it. I just want the whole story. And what I saw down there - if it is what he said it was - I think we both share in some regret tonight."

"Why did you not call for me, when you were in danger?"

"Finally, he speaks!" she threw up her hands and looked back out at the city. "Honestly? Because I forgot I could. That simple. I was in a tough situation, and I'm not used to hearing people in my head."

"What you saw, I cannot deny."

Isabel winced, and ran a hand along her face. At least it was the truth. He moved to stand behind her, and she felt a hand snake into her hair, combing slowly through it - as if testing the waters. She didn't fight him, and let him run his nails along her scalp slowly. Honestly, it was nice, after what had happened today.

"So what you're planning on doing to me, might kill me."

"Yes."

"And it's never worked before. Not once."

".. No."

Isabel shut her eyes. He had told her this much. 'The only escape from me is death.' He didn't mince words.

She had cut a deal with him. If she could convince Adrian to leave, he would move the castle from Boston, to somewhere it could do no harm. She had struck a deal with him - do that, and she would agree to be his 'companion.' Or die trying. Isabel shut her eyes - and knew she couldn't go back on it.

Where would she go? What could she honestly do, if it wasn't this? How could she go back to a normal life, without her 'family' of Adam, Eric and Tex with her? After all she had seen, after all she had suffered… this was it, now. She was at his mercy. If he were to throw her from the balcony, it was his right.

All she could do, was play her hand.

"Promise me something," she said with a wavering breath out. "If and when I die - don't put me down there. Please. Do anything else. Make me a fucking table lamp, I don't care. Just not… not in there, not with them."

He wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her back against his chest, and she felt his head rest atop hers. She wasn't sure who exactly he was trying to comfort. Perhaps both. _I give you my word,_ he spoke into her mind.

She put a hand atop his, and squeezed it gently. After a long moment, he let go of her, and moved again to stand beside her. So much had just passed between them, so much was just left understood.

She would keep her end of the bargain. She was sorry for wandering off. He was sorry for not telling her of his past failures. They both understood why.

God, she wanted not to dwell on it. So she did what she always did - she decided to lighten the mood. Isabel patted the railing next to her, and he looked at her hand, then to her quizzically.

Isabel sighed. "It means, 'come sit with me.'"

"I am not a dog."

Isabel laughed once. He was both stern and quizzical at once - looking at her thoroughly confused at her sudden switch and her sudden request. "Oh I'm sorry," she started with a playful sarcastic tone. "Will you grace me with your presence, m'lord?"

"I already am," he stated, just as flat as before.

"Oh for fucks sake, will you sit your ass on the railing with me?!" she finally exclaimed through a laugh. "I'm trying to have a legitimate moment here with you, you numbnuts."

With a deep sigh, the vampire slung a leg, then another, over the railing, and sat at her side, looking out at the city with her. "Does that word mean what I believe it to be?" he asked after a pause.

With a snicker, she raised the bottle to her lips and took another small sip. "More or less."

He looked down at her, an eyebrow raised. "Do all women now speak with such questionable vocabulary?"

Still smirking, she looked back out at the city. "Nope. I have a mouth on me, I'm aware," she replied with a shrug. "I've been told many times I'm 'not ladylike.'"

"I believe I have had my fill of 'proper ladies,'" Vlad sighed and looked out at the city as well. "A flower is a charming thing - beautiful, but delicate… too easy to crush, too weak, too quick to fade. Many of those 'ladies' would not have the fortitude you do… to sit here, contemplating the events of today instead of fashioning a noose."

Isabel shrugged. "I'm trying not to dwell on it."

Dracula continued after another pause. "I mind not your language, if I do wish it were not so frequently pointed in my direction."

Isabel grinned. "Stop asking for it, then."

"I do no such thing."

Isabel laughed - he was obviously naive about modern language, and watching him struggle with it was far more fun than it should be. "It's a phrase. Like, if someone were to insult you, and you hit them, you could say they were 'asking for it.'"

"Ah."

And so, they fell into an amicable, if strange silence. Isabel didn't want to rehash what had happened that day. It was just another nightmare in a long list of horrors. Instead, she was honestly finding herself enjoying this quiet moment between her and the vampire king. Even with everything she had learned. Isabel's innate empathy made it hard to hold grudges… not when you knew exactly _why_ a person felt the way they did.

Looking down at the bourbon in her hand, a question popped into her head. "Do you get drunk?"

"Excuse me?"

"Are vampires able to get drunk?" she looked up at him, and his still quizzical, now albeit amused expression. "Like, physically. I've seen you drink wine."

"I enjoy the flavor. And yes, we are able. Oddly enough, it works counterintuitively to humans. If I have not fed, it is harder for inebriation to take hold."

"I guess it makes sense. No blood in your system, no blood for the alcohol to absorb into."

"Precisely."

"Follow up-" she was now really interested, never having really thought through the 'logistics' of vampirism. And god, it was a good distraction from the thoughts of the day. "If you feed on someone who's blasted-"

"Blasted." He repeated the word with a flat candor that made her wonder if he was being obtuse on purpose for the humor of it.

Isabel laughed. "You know what I mean."

"I'm afraid I do not." The barest twinge of a smirk on his lips revealed that he was bluffing. She shoved his arm playfully, and the smirk bloomed to a faint smile. "Very well. Younger vampires may become ill from feeding from those that are… eh… 'blasted,' as you say. I just find it rather unenjoyable. Alcohol is far preferable to barbiturates or other chemicals. One vampire I knew many centuries ago became significantly addicted to feeding on those who had consumed such things." Vlad looked off to the city again. "It did not end well for him."

Isabel offered him the bottle of bourbon, a grin on her face. He took it shaking his head, but humoring her, and took a drink from it, and handed it back. He hissed in a breath. "How do you drink that without any reaction?"

"Practice." Isabel sipped the liquid to prove her point. "Tex would punch me in the arm every time I flinched. I learned to stop, or live with the bruise. He drank. A lot. And he never wanted to drink alone."

"You were close with him."

Isabel nodded, and her mood dropped as she remembered that she would never see him again. "We were good friends. I don't get many in my life."

"I took him from you."

Isabel shook her head, and sighed. It took her a moment to gather the right words. "You did. But I saw you. You were starving. You were just… eating. I get it. There's a difference between murder, and the food chain…"

"I have done plenty of both."

"I know," again she tried not to dwell on it. "Besides, we all knew our line of work had serious threats. He won't be the first one we've poured a glass out for at a bar." Isabel blinked. "We never did do that for Tex… I should get Erik and Adam together-" she realized she might have overstepped, and back-peddled. "With your permission."

Dracula was silent for a long moment, and then took the bottle from her. He raised it out to the city. "To fallen friends." He sipped the liquor, and handed it back.

She seconded the toast, and put the bottle down on the railing next to her. They sat for a long time again in silence, before he spoke. "I am… impressed at how you handled the events of today."

Isabel sighed, and kicked her foot idly, as she thought how to phrase her response. "I'm upset. Of course I am. It'll give me nightmares, I'm sure. But if I give into the fear, he wins. And… to be brutally frank… what he did, is no less than what I saw inside that fountain. Is no less than what souls and memories he's made of. He is collection of deaths, bathed in torture and born from madness. My madness." Isabel paused as she thought. "It makes me an even bigger fool for wandering off while he was on the loose."

"You did not know he could take another's body. But all are suspect, now… you must be careful."

"Like you're letting me roam free again," she said with a snort. "Come on. If you don't trust me in your private quarters without him," she jutted a thumb to point behind her up at the gargoyle. "Seriously."

Dracula smirked. "You seem to handle this best when not reminded you are my prisoner by overt means. I am attempting to keep it such."

"Right. Sure. I mean, what're my other options?" she snickered again.

A coy grin spread across his pale features. "If you wish to have me fashion a leash for you, I'm sure I could have it arranged-"

Isabel shoved him hard with a laugh, and if she could have pushed him hard enough, she would have tossed him from the railing. "Dick."

He was grinning at her playfully now. "So the leash is out of the question, then?"

Isabel swatted at his arm, and he laughed loudly as she did, and suddenly scooped her up and pulled her against him - a hand wrapping into her hair as he kissed her.

 _You cannot leave me so soon._

It was then that she felt it - the pain that he had felt, that she had almost died and if Wraith had not planned to violate her, he would have arrived too late to stop it. That was the betrayal that he felt. Not her conversation with Tim. That she did not call to him, when it may have meant her life.

Isabel placed her hands against his shoulders, and kissed him back. She let it end, slowly, and pulling from him, she looked into his red eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

He smiled faintly back, and simply held her to him, and she rested against him, her head on his shoulder, and just let herself enjoy the moment for what it was.

* * *

She was curled up against his chest, resting her head on his shoulder. They were in his coffin - the one hidden away in the castle where no doors or windows led to it. He had asked her what she wished - to return to her quarters, or stay with him. And she had chosen to stay with him.

As he did not truly sleep in his own quarters - it meant here.

So he took her here, pulled her beside him, and shut the lid. And she had fallen asleep in his arms, in his coffin. This time, the dreams had stayed away. Now she lay there in the darkness, which had once terrified her so badly. The feeling of his arm draped around her no longer horrified her.

Every moment his hand rested against her skin - every time he caressed her cheek, every time he was near her, he was so much closer than a simple touch. She could sense him beneath the surface. When she shut her eyes, she could almost _feel_ the night as he did. Like she was standing atop the point of the castle, gazing out at the midnight sky and endless forests of a land long since lost to time.

Gentle and violent, kind and cruel - he was all things at once. Images of him tearing apart a man to wallow in his blood flashed through her mind. He killed. He both reveled in the act and loathed it. Sometimes, he was the king of a sea of blood, lusting for the moment where the eyes went glassy and the soul fled. In another era, he all but starved himself, feeding on livestock or willing victims - never taking a life. Guilt or prideful defiance. The difference little mattered.

Lying here in total darkness, the visions danced in front of her as she traveled her way through his mind.

 _Careful. You may become lost._

Isabel was atop the castle again - standing on the sharply angled roof of the highest tower. The fear of falling hit her suddenly and she stepped backwards - into a familiar brick wall of a chest. A quiet laugh, and an arm slung around her, keeping her pressed to him.

Looking on at the stars, she realized that they were not ones she recognized. Over his thousands of years of existence, they had changed. She felt a cold and empty loneliness wash over her, and she began to understand. The empty void seemed to stretch on for eternity… and it very well might.

Countries rose and fell - empires became dust. Mountains crumbled, islands rendered to sand. Everything he had ever known he had seen bloom and die before him.

Even his stars were gone.

For the first time, Isabel felt like she had truly wrapped her mind around his world. "This is how you live," she said quietly, barely above a whisper. "On and on, endlessly."

His cape whipped in the wind around them - it looked tattered and torn, the crimson lining like ragged bloody claws against the moonlight. Vlad spoke after a long silence. "I have not 'lived' for a very long time."

She knew he meant more than just his undeath. He meant this cycle. This path that stretched endlessly before him filled with death. Every attempt he had made to break the cycle had been undone. Every attempt to veer from his fate had failed. In her, he saw a chance for a break in that cycle - even temporarily. Some way to meander from that desperate march through time. But he could not suffer as he had done before. Not again. He would rather be alone than to have his hopes dashed upon the stones like so many of his lovers.

He protected her, to keep her safe from those that would do her harm. He tortured her, to protect himself from the harm she could do to _him._

Isabel wiped at the tears that fell from the corners of her eyes. She felt him place a kiss atop her head, and she let herself rest back against him.

"Why do you cry, little dove?" he sounded almost amused.

"For you."

He turned her to face him, but kept her close, looking down at her with his red eyes. His expression was muddled confusion and scrutiny. His face was pale in the moonlight. He lifted a hand to her cheek, and brushed the back of his fingers along her skin, gently wiping away the tear that remained.

"After all that you have seen - after all you _know_ I have done. Forget not the suffering and death I have wrought - and for all that I will do in years to come. You pity me?"

"It's not pity."

"Then what is it?" he questioned - although there was no cruelty in his voice. Instead, he sounded almost desperate to know.

Isabel didn't know how to explain it - she didn't understand it herself. Yet, she reached up with both hands and took his face in her hands and pulled him down to her - and kissed him. She shut her eyes as she did, and felt both his arms move to wrap around her, hugging her to him tightly.

For the first time, since this whole misadventure had begun, she let down her guard. She let down the barriers she kept between them - keeping his mind from hers. Keeping him from using their connection to share in her emotions, as she did his. She could force an emotion on another person - but this was different. This wasn't a battering ram, but an opening of a door. Isabel needed him to understand something she could not put to words. Something too complicated, too vulnerable.

Was he afraid of what she might mean to him? Was she afraid of the darkness and terror that he embodied? Whose fear was whose became indistinguishable. It made no difference.

Finally, she broke the kiss, and kept her face close to his, her palms still resting against his jawline. "I know you, vampire…" she kept her voice at a whisper, her eyes shut. "I know you for everything you have been and ever will be." Isabel paused, unable to speak for a moment, before she finally forced herself to say the words. "I will crumble to dust. I will fade away like your stars. I won't live as long as you, even if I live ten thousand years... " Her voice wavered, but she forced herself to continue. "But in this moment - you are loved."

His reaction was not what she expected.

Isabel awoke with a start - as she was violently dragged from the coffin. She scrambled to grab onto whatever had wrenched her from where she was laying. It was a solid few seconds before she realized it was _Vlad_ that had done it.

Dracula had pulled her to standing and had her up against the wall - his fists gripping her upper arms painfully. She winced, reminded that he could crush her with a gesture if he wanted to. " _Do not lie to me-"_ he hissed, his eyes wide narrowed in fury. "You may say anything you wish to me - curse me to the depths of hell - but you will _not lie to me like that!"_ he howled in rage.

Isabel stammered uselessly - becoming very sick of being pinned to the wall by crazy people. Was she lying? He seemed so certain, he made her doubt. He quietly seethed, glaring at her as she tried to sort herself out. The adrenaline from being awoken so quickly was making her heart pound like a drum in her ears.

God help her, it was true.

How could she not? She knew all of his life, all of his pain and triumph. His joy and sorrow. All she had to do was touch him, and it was there. _He_ was there.

Her curse let her share in his.

Isabel didn't know what to do - didn't know how to convince him. Didn't know if she should even try. Maybe it would be better for her if he just tore out her throat, right here and now.

Dracula let go of one of her arms, reaching a clawed hand as if to tear her open. " _Answer me!_ " he howled in rage. But she couldn't. She didn't know how.

So she shut her eyes, and waited. And accepted it. He released her other arm, and for a long moment, she waited for the pain that would welcome death. She had felt it a thousand times, suspended in the Well of Souls. One more time was nothing.

Isabel opened her eyes as she jolted, startled as she heard a resounding _crash_ from the room. Dracula had upended his coffin, sending it hurtling against the wall, shattering it into nothing but kindling and splinters. He stood there, his back to her, fists clenched, fuming in rage.

Then, all at once - the blazing inferno of anger crumbled - and she watched as he sunk to his knees, curled over on himself, his head in his hands.

Isabel walked towards him, slowly - not sure if he would lash out at her. He stayed on his knees, unmoving - his sharpened nails visible through his hair where he grabbed his head in both hands.

She walked to his side and knelt down next to him - and not knowing what else to do, wrapped her arms around him, and placed her head on his. Isabel wasn't a fool enough to think she could console him - not really. Not when she was the source of the problem.

He knelt there, doubled over on himself, his head in his hands - for a long time. Finally, he lowered them, resting them in his lap. She sat back on her heels, still feeling so small next to him.

He looked down into the palms of his hands. "You have dealt me the worst of blows…"

"I'm not… you know I'm not lying…" she said, barely above a whisper.

"And in that, comes the wound... The words you speak ring truth as from above… You know me, for my true nature… you… dare to love me… and you _will_ die." His hands clenched into fists for a moment before relaxing again.

"Then kill me," she responded, her voice still barely audible. "If you can't stand to go forward thinking you might someday feel the same and lose me - then kill me now." She picked up his hand in hers, and placed it flat against her chest over her heart.

His hand snaked behind her neck, and he wrenched her close to him - she heard him growl a low, feral noise. Isabel saw his fangs extend, flashing white in the firelight, and she gripped his shirt in her hands as he pulled her onto his lap. Isabel let out a gasp as he yanked her head sideways, and she heard him pull in a hiss as he hovered his fangs over her neck.

This was different than all the times before. This was meant to kill. Isabel shut her eyes, and waited.

Once more, the blow never came. Instead, he released her head from its angle, and she found herself clutched to him as he bent his head onto her shoulder. Isabel just wrapped her arms around him in return.

He knelt there, holding her to him like a drowning man would a raft, for what seemed like minutes before he finally spoke. "It is too late for that…"


	15. Chapter 15

**Hello all!**

 **Very sorry for the long delay. My work was in major crunch as I said, and I just managed to come out of it now. This is a longer chapter to make up for that. It took me several rewrites to get it to the point that I was happy with it.**

 **Rated M again for very sexy bits down at the end of it.**

 **Thank you again everyone for the reviews! It keeps me going. :P**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

" _Ow!_ Quit it-"

"Be still."

"If you say that to me _one more time,_ I swear I'll deck you-"

"If you would cease your childish squirming-"

Isabel swatted the offending hand away, and glared up at the vampire pointedly. They had barely spoken since the night before - since he destroyed his coffin in a fit of rage. Since that was the only place he felt safe enough to sleep - he brought them both back to his chambers, so at least she might try to rest.

Unfortunately, sleep eluded her. A combination of too many thoughts crowding through her head at once, replaying the previous day over and over again - and the searing pain in her side.

The later had prompted her to go into the bathroom to inspect the damage that Wraith - in the body of Tim - had caused. A purple and green bruise had bloomed along the left side of her jaw, but that wasn't her main concern. Lifting her blouse over her head carefully, cringing as she moved her right arm, she turned to inspect Wraith's 'handiwork.' The blotch on her jaw paled in comparison to the rainbow and candy-cane stain that dominated her right ribs. Isabel couldn't help but wince and hiss through her teeth when she saw it. Cracked rib - no doubt about it. Hopefully just a hairline fracture. Anything worse, and she probably wouldn't still be breathing without screaming.

Rooting through the drawers, she found a bandage stuffed under the sink. She had a pretty extensive background in first aid - both from her 'hands on' experience working with Tex, Adam and Eric, and from her decades of scavenged memories she had buzzing around in her mind.

If she could just wrap her ribs tightly enough, it would help. But she couldn't do it with just two hands. And she only had one option when it came to solving that problem. Putting her hand to her forehead, she sighed. Vlad had been silent - absolutely _silent_ since the night before. Not wanting to speak of Wraith, of what the possessing spirit had tried to do - or about Dracula and her's exchange, of him destroying his coffin and what led to that. None of it.

Asking for his help right now was going to push his buttons, she knew it. Not that he wouldn't want to help her - but because the sight of the damage would set him off. This was not going to go well. Not well at _all._

But the other option was she put up with the pain, and try to hide it - and that would go over even worse.

"Vlad?" she asked tentatively, knowing he was still in his library, staring into the fire. "Can… Would you mind helping me for a moment?"

It wasn't long before he walked in, appearing in the mirror behind her (a myth, she was glad to find out,) looming like some sort of dark spectre. Something about it almost made her want to recoil - but she held her ground. Watching his reflection as he took in the sight of the bruises that had been given to her.

She didn't need to be an empath to feel the hatred pouring off of him. The anger. The _rage._ Isabel winced again, preparing for an outburst - for anything. But nothing came. LIke some passing storm cloud, the anger cleared - and his face returned to the dour expression that seemed to be his reflexive mask.

"Yes?" he asked, as if nothing had transpired.

Isabel sighed, shut her eyes for a moment, and decided to let a sleeping tiger lie. Opening her eyes, she picked up the bandage from the counter, and unraveled one portion of it, and handed it to him. "Could you just… hold this to my back? I need a hand wrapping this…"

That seemed to have caught him off guard. Whatever he had been expecting from her, it was not that. With a blink, he did as she asked, and she pulled the bandage around her front, and then held the roll out to him. "If you could just… pull that around, not too tightly, but firmly enough-"

"I know how…" he scolded, his voice quiet - almost sounding… vulnerable. She decided not to push him, and let him take the roll from her, and watched in the glass as he carefully began to wrap her ribs.

It wasn't until after he was finished, and had tucked the end of the bandage under one of the wraps, that the 'argument' began. His strange reverie while bandaging her was gone, and he was now examining the bruise on her jawline. She let him turn her head to one side, let him follow the line of the damage up behind her ear - and as he traced the edge of it, he took his thumb and pressed it into a spot on the back of her head, close to the top of her neck.

" _Ow!_ Quit it-"

"Be still."

"If you say that to me _one more time,_ I swear I'll deck you-"

"If you would cease your childish squirming-"

Isabel swatted his hand away and looked up at him, glaring at the vampire - all thoughts of sleeping tigers pushed aside. A hand on her shoulder turned her to face him, and she had to crane her head back to look up at him - as he was standing close to her, almost pinning her to the sink.

"Let me heal you."

The words were an abyss, and resonated with a meaning that made her hair stand on end. Everything in her wanted to back away from him, as if she were trying to back away from the edge of a cliff. In many ways, he was just that. She knew what he meant. There was only one thing he _could_ mean.

"Drink from me."

He hadn't needed to clarify - but that drove it home.

"I-" she stammered, and tried to move away from him - but an arm on either side of her kept her trapped. Fear. Images of the women in those coffins - his failed experiments - his failed 'companions.' The hollow, dead and empty eyes looking at her, calling out to her as if she were one of them… She was. Or at least, she was _going_ to be.

Wraith had brought her there to hurt her. But what he had shown her had been real.

"Once will not kill you," Vlad soothed quietly, his voice low as to not startle her, like you'd talk to a trapped animal. The terror was written plainly across her, she was sure.

Since physically hiding was out of the question, maybe there was another way out. Any way to buy time. Her scrambling mind found something worth an attempt. "That wasn't our deal," she finally asserted. "Not until you give me a chance to talk Adrian into leaving. Not until I get you to move this castle out of Boston - or I fail."

That was the bargain they had struck, after all. EIther she would succeed in getting Adrian to leave - in which case Vlad would uproot the castle and give up his siege of Boston, or she would fail. Either way, her fate was the same.

Vlad let out a long, heavy sigh, and shut his eyes. He lowered his head, his dark hair falling along his face. "You are unbreakable in mind and spirit, my little dove… but I fear what others may do to the rest of you."

Isabel shook her head. "I won't go wandering off again… And it's just Adrian, anyway."

Vlad lifted his head, just barely, his red eyes flickering embers that once more bore through her. His voice had returned to its lofty sense of irony, his lips curling into a slight sneer. "Do not discount his capacity for cruelty, my dear. He is _my son_ after all…"

And with that, he pushed away from her, and walked from the bathroom, leaving her standing against the sink, trembling. Damn him and his unpredictable moods. One way or another, those moods were hers to deal with now… short term or long term, it didn't matter - it was all she'd have until she died.

The thought did nothing to help her nerves, and she shakily finished dressing, and made herself look somewhat presentable - although with the dark blotch against her jaw, there was little she could do.

With one last moment to gather her resolve, she walked out of the bathroom. He stood by a window, hands clasped behind his back, staring out at the castle parapets and the perpetual night sky beyond. When he turned to look at her, he was impassive both in appearance and from what she could sense from him. But Vlad was nothing if he was not like a riptide beneath a frozen surface.

Part of her was offended that he was 'shutting her out' - after everything they had exchanged the night prior. But part of her was also still in fear at the idea of 'drinking from him.' Of her deal with the vampire king and what it _really_ meant to her (very likely limited) future.

"Let us make good on my end of this foolish bargain," he held out his hand to her with a bored sigh. "So you may finally see the futility in your goal and we may move forward free of your childish naivety."

Isabel bristled at the insult, but ignored it. Arguing wasn't going to get her anywhere with him. He was angry - upset - in turmoil. And if she admitted it, she knew why. She was to blame - in all manner of ways. She had refused to drink from him, hiding behind their deal. She had refused to call for him, when Wraith had nearly killed her. She pushed him away - and yet, last night, she had told him that she loved him.

To be honest? She did. In some strange, awful, messed up way, she did… And yet, she was terrified of him. Isabel suspected that would never change, no matter how long this went on. Last night, she had accepted death at his hands if he chose it - if he wanted to spare himself the pain of losing her if he came to care about her. And he had claimed it was too late.

In all that, was the reason for his cold behavior. In all that, was her. And that is why she ignored his insult - his petty attempt to lash out at her. She only put her hand in his, and let him take them both to somewhere else in a whirl of fire.

* * *

"Chuckles!"

That was a voice he did not expect to hear again.

Yet, there she was.

Isabel had been sitting on a bench, for what seemed like some time, as her feet were crossed at the ankles and she was leaning back on the wall. She was wearing clothes that looked distinctly different in style than she would choose on her own. Reds, blacks, and lacking in sleeves and her hooded coat of choice. His father's influence, no doubt. As he watched, Isabel stood up and the smile on her features seemed genuine. It made him no less nervous.

Suspicion on his part was an instantaneous reaction - his hand was upon the handle of his sword before he could register that she smelled… human. Untainted. Her heartbeat was audible to him, just below the surface. It made no difference. His father's corruption was clear, nonetheless. She had disappeared with the priest, and he found her here - now.

Adrian stood there in silence, his eyes narrowed, waiting for the trap to spring. Save the hand on his blade, he made no motion - no reaction to her presence.

"What's wrong?" she asked, and looked around left and right as if she were also looking for a trap, not realizing that _she_ was the bait. Poor girl.

"It has been two weeks since last we met. You have spent that time in my father's… care."

Isabel - whom he had no reason to believe was anything less than remarkably quick witted - followed his line of reasoning, sighed and nodded. Dejectedly, she sat back down on the bench, and crossed her feet at her ankles in front of her again. "Right. I'm the enemy you're waiting for."

"A lure perhaps."

That seemed to confuse her, and she looked at him with renewed scrutiny. Curiously, she tilted her head to the side as she tried to discern some deeper reasoning. "What, like I'm some damsel in distress you couldn't help but save?" she laughed quietly at the notion. "No one's coming to get the jump on you. I'm here with Vlad's permission."

He noticed the purple bruise along her jaw by her ear - and it seemed fresh. "Has he struck you?"

"Huh?" she blinked, and then pointed to her jaw. "This? No. Not him. That's… that was somebody else entirely. A long story I'd rather not get into…"

Adrian's eyes narrowed slightly as he observed her. He could not detect that as a lie - but talented empaths made impervious liars, in his experience.

Her words did nothing to calm his sense of danger. When his hand tightened on his sword hilt, she winced, sensing it. He forgot she was such a keen empath. It was not that Adrian made practice of guarding his emotions and his thoughts - but he had become accustomed to the armor that was his natural trait. To see himself so easily read was both severely disconcerting and fascinating.

Isabel waved her gloved hands as if to try and dissuade him from attacking her. "Look - no. It's not like that. Let me explain."

His silence was enough of a cue for her to continue.

The burden of her situation - of the magnitude of what she had to express to him, suddenly weighed on her like it had physically manifested. He watched her shoulders slump, as she visibly doubted her own bearing. He pitied her, as much as he respected her constitution. To withstand what she had done so far - to maintain some semblance of herself in this madness, was an enormous task.

"I know this is pointless," she ran a gloved hand over her face. "I know I can't convince you. But I have to _try._ "

Such words he had heard muttered too many times, by fallen friends and foes alike. By townsfolk piteously outmatched, willing to die with the knowledge that they aspired to do great deeds. Too many times he had shared that same sentiment. ' _We cannot succeed - but we must must try.'_

Never had he been the _subject_ of such hopeless endeavors - the immovable object. How many times in his years had he looked upon the throne of his father, and known that it was all for naught? That any _real_ victory was hopeless? That he could _not_ be convinced to cease his war?

Adrian was not an unfeeling stone, as many had accused him of over his years. If he were such a thing, why would he return? Century after century? To seek to put an end to the plague that was his bloodline? For love of his mother. For love of the part of him that was human. For the part of him that wept for what could never be. In her, he saw the same pain. The sorrow with which she met his gaze broke his heart.

He removed his hand from his blade, and walked towards her.

* * *

Isabel was surprised as Adrian sat on the bench next to her. Surprised even more at the sympathy that she felt from him. If she had pushed her own feelings onto him, she hadn't intended to - but when she looked up at him, there was a softness to his cold features that she hadn't seen before.

"I will listen."

That almost brought her to tears alone - god, she needed something to go 'her way' today.

But Isabel wasn't even sure where to begin. It took her a long while to gather her thoughts enough to start. "I don't believe anyone can ever change their nature. Not truly. Your father… is what he is. And what he will always be. God only knows how old he really is - I don't even think Vlad knows for sure. He kills. He's a vampire - sorry, that's what… you guys do."

"Then you are not foolish, as many have sought after such impossible goals. My mother, in fact, was guilty of such misguided and optimistic intentions."

Isabel nodded, looking down at the floor. What she knew of Lisa, that was true. Isabel had been inside too many minds - seen too much of what people were capable of, to think 'the best' of people. "But, I believe people can be tempered. By knowledge, experiences, by others… Influenced, not changed." Isabel looked up from the floor, and looked at the stained glass window across from them - of some black-winged angel, holding a blade. "And Vlad likes to play games. He can be bargained with."

A heavy sigh - one that sounded distinctly familial. She decided not to point that out. "What deal have you struck?" Adrian asked her, sounding as though he would almost rather not know.

"If I can convince you to leave here, peacefully… he'll move the castle. From Boston, off to somewhere it'll do no damage. He'll stop his war against humans, for now. How long, I don't know. I'm not asking you to be family again. I'm asking you to agree to a ceasefire. To let him try and find a new way to live."

Adrian was silent for a long time, before he spoke again. "What else?"

Of course, he'd know that wasn't it. Of course he'd know Vlad was too much of a 'businessman' to cut a deal that guaranteed him nothing. "That if he let me try to convince you - I'd… uh…" Isabel let out a sigh. "Agree to try and become his 'companion.'"

Isabel had expected him to be disappointed - to sigh, to shake his head - not to stand up quickly and turn to face her, a dire look on his face. "So _that_ is why he has not made you into a vampire. Do you know what you have done?! You agree to death, then, by simply coming here to speak with me!"

"I'm dead anyway!" she argued back - startled by his anger and not sure what to do with it except return the favor. "Think about it. He's not going to just let me walk out that door - even if I-" Isabel realized she had walked into an open door, and it was going to get her into trouble. But there was no turning back now. " _Shit._ "

"'Even if you' what?"

Isabel let out a groan, and put her head in her hands for a moment before committing to her mistake and finishing the sentence, looking back up at him, exasperated. "Even if I wanted to leave." Adrian turned away from her, and she felt the turmoil rage inside him. "I'm sorry."

"You love him."

Isabel paused for a long time. "It's complicated."

"He has tortured you, corrupted you, done the same to your friends - and you _love him._ " Adrian's hands were fists at his side. "Do you not see what he has done?!"

"I know perfectly well what he's done," she responded. "I know why you don't believe me. You don't know how much time I've spent _in his head._ Seeing his past. Seeing into who he is. I'm an empath - I can't help it." When he didn't respond, she continued. "I know you think he's hypnotized me. Tricked me into feeling this way. But that isn't the case."

"I should take you from here. I should send you away - where his influence can fade. Your life can continue. You think it gone, but you have hope. Ours are _lost,_ Isabel."

"Hope. There's what's interesting." Isabel stood up from the bench, and walked up to him. "I'll try this again. I know I won't leave here alive, Adrian… and I know that, not because I've lost hope - but because I understand that I _have_ to be here. Because everything I have _ever_ cared about is here, now. Adam, Eric… and yes, even Vlad. I don't know what I feel for him - it's a grab-bag by-the-moment toss up between love and terror. But do you know what he has? Hope. Hope that he might, someday, somehow, care for someone again. Hope that maybe, despite his _millennia_ of years that say otherwise, he might find a new way to exist outside of this… cycle you two are on. That maybe someday, you two can stop this hell you both put yourselves in." Isabel put her hand on his shoulder.

Adrian shrugged her off of him, and whirled on her angrily - and she saw his fangs for the first time. "Do you think I wish to be trapped in this purgatory?! Do you think I wish to be as Sisyphus upon the hill?! Never have I been given the freedom to walk the earth - and never have I been _arrogant_ and egotistical enough to steal _love and hope_ from others as he does!"

Isabel blinked, caught off guard by his fierce anger. His words made sense. Vlad had stolen her away - hunted her, trapped her, and kept her as his prisoner. In hopes that she would love him. And she did - blame it on her empathic ability if she wanted, but she did. And there wasn't denying that she had little choice but to be where she was. "Fine."

"What?" Adrian was caught off guard, her admission hitching his anger mid-stride.

"You're right. He did. One way or another, he did. I won't argue that fact out of pride, or, to defend him. I don't feel any need to defend the things he's done. And no, you didn't ask to be like this. And I'm trying to give you a chance to break the cycle - or at least stall it for a time. I don't know how long - maybe only weeks until this whole 'ritual' goes wrong, and he's poisoned me and I die." It was Isabel's turn to walk away, to a planter that held what looked like glass roses - but she suspected they weren't some strange sculpture and had actually grown there.

Isabel reached out to touch one, running her gloved hand along the glass petals of the rose. "How many times have you killed him?"

"Three."

"How many times has he left you wandering in the wings for weeks, never entering the keep?"

Adrian paused for a long time. "Never."

"So that means he can keep you out if he wants to."

Silence. Then, reluctant admission. "Perhaps."

"Then why do you think he let you into the keep that many times?" Another long silence. "Two reasons." Oh, she was going to catch serious shit for this later. "One, he doesn't want to kill you, and doom you to this place like everyone else. You two aren't on speaking terms, but you're still his son. He still loves you. Two, you're his insurance policy."

"Excuse me?"

Isabel sighed. Right. 15th century man, lacking in modern phrases. She turned to look at him, his features for the first time since she had met him looked uncertain. Exposed. "He doesn't want to kill the world," she said with a small, sad laugh. "He barely knows it. I just don't think he has any other way to be, anymore. Vlad wants this all to _end_. I think every time you kill him, he hopes he'll stay dead, once and for all. I wish I could make you understand what it's like to be that… alone." Isabel looked back to the glass roses. Fragile, beautiful, and sharp. "He keeps you in the wings until he's done suffering through another pointless cycle. Then, he _lets_ you kill him. Same with all the Belmonts. Same with the Helsing family. He doesn't want to live like this either…"

His voice was quiet, she felt a pang of hurt from him, hollowing out his anger. "And you are certain of this..?"

"I saw the moment he became the first vampire. I saw him as a man, however many thousands of years ago - drinking the blood of his murdered lost love. I've seen all his triumphs, all his failures… I know his pain. I've seen every world he has once called home, and lost.. I know the cruelty he's suffered, and the cruelty he's dealt in kind. That's why I've come to feel the way I do for him… I know him. I know more about his past than I do about my own," she said with a half-laugh. "So, yes. I'm certain."

Looking back to him, Isabel watched Adrian as he struggled with what she was saying. But when he didn't interrupt to call her a liar, she continued. "But he still has _hope._ Hope that even after all this time, he might not have to always be alone. Hope there might be another kind of life for him. All he's known is loss. Death. Hate. Every attempt to love and _be_ loved has been a lie or been snatched away from him. I have to try to be something other than that. Even if it means I lose my stupid little life, I have to try to bring him something else." She turned her back to him again, feeling the tears sting her eyes and not wanting to cry in front of the stoic vampire. "That's why I can't leave. That's why I can't walk out that door. I have to try." Isabel laughed again, sarcastically at herself. "Even if it's for a hot second before I die when my heart fucking _explodes_."

A hand on her shoulder and she turned - shocked at the gesture.

"I hope… for all our sakes… you are successful."

Isabel paused for a moment, in surprise, and looked at him curiously. The expression on his face was unreadable, and like his father - he was the storm beneath a glass surface. "Does... this... mean you'll agree?" She was afraid to ask.

Adrian paused, looked upon the stained glass window that cast the colored shards of light upon the lush carpet and marble floor. Finally, he nodded. "But I will leave only once he moves this place away." Adrian paused, before finishing his thought. "And I would speak to him before I go."

Isabel hugged him - she couldn't help it. He seemed shocked, holding his arms as if he was afraid to touch her. She knew how to hug people without letting their skin touch. She felt one of his gloved hands settle on her back - his means of returning the gesture.

"Thank you, Chuckles…"

"Stop calling me that." She could hear the smile in his voice - glad for some routine in the angst.

"Oh!" Isabel pushed away from him. "I almost forgot." Walking to the stone bench, she picked up a silver dagger in a hilt from the surface, and turned to hand it to him. "You gave me this, and Vlad told me it was a gift to you from your mother. You should have it back."

When she held it out to him, he placed his hand on hers, and curled her fingers back around the hilt. "No. It was a gift and I do not give such things lightly." His voice was soft again, a rare gentle moment from the icy figure. "It is blessed, and capable of ending his life. Should you ever need to do such…"

Isabel looked down at it - and could only smile faintly. He couldn't help but try to protect everyone, even if it was hopeless. So, she looked up at him with the same slight smile. "Thank you."

"You are welcome. Now… I think I will go seek the priest. He and I have words to exchange." Adrian turned to leave her, walking towards the door at the end of the corridor. "Perhaps the castle will be more amicable in its construction, now that we come to an accord."

"I wouldn't be surprised," she replied to him as he opened the large wood door. "See you soon. … Chuckles."

He only shook his head, and she could catch the faintest smirk on his lips as he shut the door behind him.

* * *

Isabel hadn't made it two steps past the door before she heard his voice inside her head.

 _Come._

Isabel winced, feeling the command run to her very soul, and she sighed, and quipped back at him in her mind. _Quit_ c _alling me like I'm a dog._

Silence was her response, and she walked to the other door and knew that no matter where the door had originally run - it would now run straight to him. The castle obeyed its master, after all.

Sure enough, a twist of the knob and she found herself in a hallway that made her steps falter. This was the crypt that Tim had brought her to - the crest on the old wooden door was Dracula's. It had been pushed open, and flickering torchlight from inside the room cast strange shadows on the stone floor.

"It is safe," she heard his voice - spoken this time, from inside the crypt. It really didn't do much to make her less nervous. "Come here," he said, now clearly irritated at the delay.

The order was again - simple. His voice still drove straight through her to soul - reminding her exactly how ever-present he really was in her world, now. A bird in a cage. He always called her a 'little dove.' For a moment, she felt the debate renew, sparked by Adrian's words. That she was only under some kind of spell. Isabel admitted it, at least to herself now - that she had fallen in love with him. Was it real? Did it matter? Love at what cost? Freedom - or him? There would not be both.

Truthfully, she wasn't sure there was even still an option on the table.

She had promised this - that she would try to become his 'companion' - even if she didn't fully understand what that meant. She would do it, to try and save hundreds or thousands of lives. To try and save countless more, if he started a war against humanity itself.

And Eric and Adam were still here. Her friends, her family. There was nothing left for her anywhere else. (And in some strange way, the only things she had left of Tex.)

So what did it matter, if she was in a cage? Isabel struggled with the idea of being a prisoner - but if he opened the door to the castle for her right now, and said 'walk out with my blessings,' she knew she couldn't. She hadn't lied to Adrian - it was too late for that.

He had said it himself, when he, in a perfectly round-about way, admitted that he cared for her too much to end her life to spare himself inevitable suffering. He would be her life, or her death, no matter how it panned out.

So now, there was no point in disobeying him. Why dig her heels in? What was the point? Isabel prided herself on being sensible, logical, rational. When one was beset by emotions from all side, you need any kind of rock to hold onto. So she honed it like a blade, to cut through the madness of having so many extra emotions rushing through her at all times.

After all that crossed her mind in a flash of a moment, she swallowed nervously and walked into the crypt. Vlad stood in its center, watching as she entered the room, eyes glinting in the torchlight. When she had been here yesterday - only one torch was lit. Now, they all danced their light across the glass and stone. For the first time, she saw the room in its entirety.

It made her want to cry. Or throw up. Or both.

At first, she wondered why Vlad had brought her here - but the reasoning suddenly rang through her like a bell. He wanted to show her, on his terms, the path to what she was meant to become. What she was meant to transcend. The path that had brought him here.

She took a few, tentative steps forward, feeling the weight of it all press against her. All she wanted to do was turn around, take his hand and have him take her away from here. From _them._ But this had to happen. She _had_ to know.

The room felt like an old, stone and dirt cellar of any old building. It was hard to imagine how far down into the depths of the labyrinth they must be - if location ever actually mattered in a place like Dracula's castle. A puddle of blood - dried, but dark brown against the floor, was all that remained of Tim and the knife she put through his throat. She wondered if he was truly dead - being a companion and all - or if he woke up here, in a place like this.

Another matter for another time. Forcing herself to stop focusing on the distractions, she looked back to the coffins. One after another after another, of various ages and styles. But all of them were made of glass. All of them deprived of privacy for their death and decay. Glass coffins always struck her as perfect example of how a person's ego could manifest in the weirdest of ways. Either because they were unable to accept the fact of death, unable to let go, or accept that things - including their loved ones - would rot. But for Vlad… this was not some selfish way to cling to those that lay within them. This was to remind him of his failures.

Even for as long as they had laid there, their minds pressed against hers. _Ghosts._ Great. Now that she focused on them, she felt like she was standing in a crowd. _Listen!_ _See!_ Isabel's breath quickened as she struggled to keep them from overtaking her, right then and there. Shutting her eyes, she could feel them reaching for her. Like the statue had done.

 _Join us, sister. Listen to us. See us. See what he has done._

It wasn't voices in her mind - not like Dracula could do. No, this was a feeling. An overwhelming sensation of words expressed. Flashes of imagery, colors, memories, a hug, a hello, a cried greeting from a balcony. A wave. Smiling, tearful greetings at a wake or a funeral.

It wasn't malignant. It wasn't with intent to harm. They didn't want to hurt her.

 _Join us, sister._

It wasn't a threat. They didn't want her to die like they had. They wanted to know, and _be_ known.

Isabel laced her hands together across the back of her neck, and lowered her head, feeling their closeness. This wasn't the first time that she had come in contact with ghosts. Hardly. Anytime there was someone 'there and not there,' this would happen.

It's not like she could ever see them, or actually hear them. She could just feel their emotions like anyone else. It took her many years to learn how to interpret what it was they were trying to say - and to stop having a panic attack every time it happened.

Isabel opened her eyes after a long moment and let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Turning to look back at Dracula, he seemed… uncomfortable. He was looking past her - down the rows of the dozens of corpses he had placed here, one by one, and seemed to be listening to his _own_ ghosts. Those, undoubtedly, were less exterior than hers.

Isabel had once kicked her way into his mind - dragged him through the muck and mire of his lost loves. His loneliness. But not a single one of these women were part of those memories. These were all the 'could have been's. The ones who died, suffering through what was about to be her future.

His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides - and it took a long moment before his red eyes flicked to hers. The stoic expression on his face flashed through a litany of shame, hatred, loss, anger… then back to nothing as quickly as it had come. He was in turmoil, rolling through a sea of something that she couldn't put a finger on. It wasn't just being faced with his failures - it wasn't just being reminded of every time he lost. It was something else. "What's wrong..?" she asked, her voice sounding impossibly small in the crypt.

In the flickering light, his red eyes glinted like torches of their own. He spoke, his voice quiet, carrying in the silence of the tomb broken only by the burning crackle of the torches in their sconces. The words were cold - but the sorrow that burned away in him made her heart crack. Some of it was for him - most of it was for those that surrounded her.

"I do not remember them all…"

The air, despite its chill was thick with memories, thick with the past. It was like being in a pool of it - so powerful it crackled in the air around her. So many times he had done this - so many times he had tried, and failed. He could not remember each one - not every name, not every death...

Isabel shut her eyes again as both his mind, and those of the dead crashed against her. Their agony - his loss. Opening her eyes and letting out a breath… she decided it was time to do what she knew she had to do - but dreaded. To see. To listen.

She walked to one of the glass coffins, one that seemed to call out to her, and she pulled the glove from her hand. Hovering her hand over the glass, she took a breath in, then out - trying to prepare herself.

The glass was cold under her touch as she laid her fingers gently on the ancient container. It was a beautiful piece of work - carefully and meticulously framed in metal. All thoughts of craftsmanship were pushed aside as the vision played out in front of her.

 _Oh God above, they've all left me! They are sacrificing me!_

The memory in front of her was several hundred years old. It was hard to tell, when all peasant clothing probably looked the same for almost a thousand years. The woods around them were dark, pressing in around them like a void that chittered and chirped with insects, animals and danger.

She had awoken, tied to a stake in the middle of the clearing, dressed in the only nice white gown the village had managed to dig up. Her blonde hair fell around her shoulders in beautiful curls and waves. The girl had been drugged at a dinner the night prior by the town elders. This was their way of 'placating the demon king.'

A single torch, shoved into the ground nearby, was her only source of light. The only source of keeping the woods at bay. Wolves howled in the distance, and she let out a shriek of fear. She was _terrified_ of the dark. Had been since she was a little girl. "Help!" she cried out - but knew no one would come to her. "Please, help!"

In a swirl of darkness, he appeared. Standing across the clearing from the beautiful girl, watching her as she pulled on the ropes that secured her wrists to the post over her head. Upon seeing him, she screamed, her struggle becoming frantic, like prey in a trap. And that, she was meant to become.

" _Be still,"_ he commanded, his voice tearing through her like a white-hot branding iron. In its wake, she was left stunned, agog. Unable to do _anything_ but obey. She stood still, wrapt, watching the regal monster before her with wide, terrified green eyes.

He approached her, and she felt her soul quake at his presence. His long, white hair flowed around his shoulders, his pale skin only barely a different shade. The red eyes of the vampire bored into her - _through her -_ as she trembled.

His hand reached up to the ropes that bound her wrist, and he undid them with a careful ease, releasing her hands. She clasped her hands close to her chest, back still pressing against the wood post.

"You are free," he said to her, quietly.

That was not what she had expected. She had expected him to murder her - to take her and do horrible things - to feed her to the monsters that hunted the forests amongst the wolves and trees. Not to gently release her hands, and then… release _her._

But where would she go?

If she returned to the town, they would burn her for being a witch, she was certain. No one returned from this - no one came back from being an offering to the devil himself.

If she ran, she wouldn't make it far. She was not educated like the elders, who could read and write, but she was not _stupid._

But would it be better to die in the forests at the teeth of wolves than at the hand of the devil himself? Her eyes darted off to the darkness beyond - and she felt her soul quake with terror at the idea of walking into those trees. Alone.

She shook her head frantically, shrinking back to be as small as she could make herself. No, no, please no. Kill her here, kill her now, not like that… anything but the darkness.

"Very well," was all he responded, as they disappeared in a rush of flame.

She died, barely a month later, her body wracked in pain and terror as it felt like her blood burned inside her. As her mind hollowed out to nothingness and finally surrendered to the darkness she feared so much. Screaming, begging for pity, for mercy, for the light to take her as he looked down upon her in regret.

Isabel pulled her hand from the coffin and chewed on her lip, feeling the woman's own fear recede from her mind like a bad dream. She didn't look back at Vlad - knew she would find no solace in him - so simply moved to another casket. Another touch, and another story.

Her sinewy legs were wrapped around his waist he knelt amongst the pillows and cushions in front of the fire. He filled her to the brim, and she wanted more. Moving her skin against his, she felt him crush her against his chest, felt the cold marble under her ripple as he withdrew, only to fill her again.

One of his arms slung around her lower back, the other hand squeezing her ample breast in between strong fingers. Teeth descended onto her neck, and she cried out in joy as pleasure rushed her body at his deadly kiss. The fire of his touched delighted her. The fire of his blood consumed her. And now she lay alone in the cold.

Isabel moved to the next casket.

Drop by drop.

Drop by drop.

Drop by drop he took her life. And she took his.

The clothes pegged this as somewhere around the 17th century - when 'science' was a laugh riot by any modern means. But the science of the castle had always been far more advanced, far more gifted than leeches or trepanning.

The girl, red hair like fire, spirit to match, was sitting in a chair, her arm strapped to it - not to hold her there, but simply to make it easier upon the 'doctor.' The monster - or whatever he was - who was carefully and gently working the needle into her arm. _Do not harm the mistress,_ the doctor knew. _Or you die._

Her blood was being taken out - siphoned carefully into a gold gilt container. Bit by bit, day after day, he took the smallest amounts from her, and drank it from a chalice with the greatest of reverence. Her king, her lover, her master. She was dedicated to him, mind body and soul. He would have her in any way he deemed her worthy.

And he wanted her by her side for all eternity. So she would throw herself to the inferno of hell to see it done. She looked up at him, adoringly, as he stood beside her, a finger toying with one of the long curls of her hair.

Once he had emptied the chalice, he put his finger into his mouth, pierced the skin of his fingertip with his tooth, and held it out, over her. She opened her mouth, obedient - ready - wanting it more than anything. Wanting _him_ more than anything.

Drop by drop, he said. Perhaps then, it would not take her life. Without his eternal kiss, instead by filter and machine. Perhaps then, it would not poison her.

Months, it took her to die. Burning in the inferno.

And she would do it all again, if he ever asked it of her.

Isabel shook her head free of the cobwebs as she pulled her hand from the glass. She wanted to curl into herself - wanted to go sit in some dark place in quiet away from all of this. That was enough. She had seen enough.

Rubbing both hands over her face, she let out a wavering breath and turned to look over at Vlad - who stood, stock-still, watching her with a muddled expression of concern and defiance.

"Do you regret any of it?" she asked - unsure where the question came from. Maybe from her, maybe from the women still around her, pressing close to her.

"Of course. But, I have long learned not to spend my thoughts upon regret. Lest I be utterly consumed with that, and nothing else." He turned his gaze from her, to the coffins in the walls. He walked up to one, and laid a hand on the glass, as she had done moments prior. As if he almost wanted to share in what she had seen - to remember. To touch them once more. "I have enough to spill over even the countless lives I have lived."

Isabel walked up to him, slowly, not wanting to interrupt his thoughts as he looked down at the dessicated corpse within the glass, empty sockets looking back up at him in silence.

"Your words… to my son…" he said quietly, his voice barely a whisper. "They were spoken truth. This is a mistake I will make, again and again… This is a failure I cannot escape. The alternative, I cannot accept… To persist, like this… alone… without ever having hope of anything else, I-"

She had never heard him at a loss for words like that, never heard him unable to express himself. Isabel finally reached his side, and slipped her hand into his other one, lacing her fingers through his, as she looked up at him.

His eyes shut at her touch, and he lowered his head, his dark hair obscuring his features as he stood there, overwhelmed with the loss that filled his past, overwhelmed by the loss in his future.

"Hey," she tried to break him out of it. "Let's go… I think I've seen as much as I can handle."

He nodded, lifting his head and his stature was once again the king, and not a man, crushed by the weight of his world. Red eyes looked down to her, and she felt him squeeze her hand, if barely, in return. A thank you, for the reprieve.

A roar of fire, and they were gone. Back to his chambers, where they had been several hours prior. It was such a relief, to be somewhere less… crowded.

Although, they were not entirely alone.

"My lord," a voice came from close to the door. She turned - and couldn't hide the startled look on her face. A vampire, judging by the skin color and demeanor, dressed in garb that looked like that of an 18th century french noble. Seeing the look on her face, he bowed deep at the waist. "Forgive the intrusion, my lady."

She'd never get used to being called 'lady.' It made her snicker every time.

"I was perfectly clear that I was not to be disturbed," Dracula snarled angrily at the other vampire, and stepped towards him, with the clear intent to smear him all over the walls.

"Your command, Master-" the french vampire took a step back, his hands raised. "Was to find you, immediately, upon finding Lord Maverick's bonded mortal."

That stopped the advance of the vampire king. Vlad pulled up short, and growled low in his throat. "Speak."

The frenchman nodded, but was nervous, shifting on his feet. "It is hard to explain, my Lord. I believe you must… see him for yourself."

Another annoyed noise from the older vampire, before responding. "Very well. Allow me a moment, and I will join you."

"Of course, my Master. We are in the main library." And with a bow, the younger vampire was gone in a swirl of mist.

Isabel had been chewing on her lip for the duration of the short conversation. "What do you mean, they 'found Tim?' Did we lose him? I mean, I put a knife in his throat. I know things around here don't _stay dead_ but..."

"He was not there upon returning, and could not be found," Vlad stated, matter-of-factly.

"You didn't think to mention this?" Oh great! The psychotic, can-apparently-possess-people, hive-mind collection of dead people's souls was on the loose. No cause for alarm.

Vlad turned to look at her with an arched eyebrow. "Am I to report to you, now?"

"After what he tried to do? After what he did? I thought-" she saw quickly this line of reasoning wasn't going to get her anywhere. The look on his face said as much. "Never mind," she finished with a defeated sigh.

"I will return shortly."

"Wait-" Isabel started, and took a step towards him. "I… I feel like I should go. If they found Tim, I owe him an explanation - an apology."

Vlad's jaw twitched once, as he looked down at her with his usual dour impassiveness. "It would put you into needless danger."

"I won't wander off. I won't leave your side, I promise." Isabel insisted. "And besides - if he's still possessed by Wraith, I'm probably the only one who can tell he's still in there," she pointed out.

Vlad looked off, thought for a moment, then shook his head as he spoke. "As you wish. But this is a needless risk." He held out his hand to her, and she took it - stepping into him. It was becoming a familiar routine. He looked down at her with a faint smirk, as if he too were reflecting on how comfortable she was becoming with his presence. But, he said nothing.

In a roar of fire, the room was gone - and reappeared instead as an elaborate, golden library. Rows of books, instruments of study - and a gigantic, slowly rotating 'orrery' model of the… well, it wasn't the solar system, so she wasn't sure what it was meant to represent. Vlad left her to ponder it, or rather, stare up at it in awe… especially when she noticed it wasn't _suspended_ by anything, instead just floating there magically.

"I do not believe you will be able to apologize to him after all," she heard him say from across the room.

As she finally looked to where he was standing - she felt her stomach drop. "Oh, Tim…" she said quietly as she followed after him, and took in the scene in front of her.

Several people stood about in small clusters, including the frenchman vampire who had come to deliver the news. Two faces she recognized in the group - Maverick and Aria. She smiled at them faintly, but they were distracted… by Tim.

Who was nailed to the wall.

Standing, pinned by two pieces of broken wood - which clearly came from an up-ended and shattered table nearby, he was pinned there like an insect collector would pin a prize beatle. One stake of wood through each shoulder. Blood had soaked the front of his shirt and down his jeans - but he was alive, and breathing.

His eyes were… open. But he was staring, lifelessly - straight ahead, his head slumped to one side like he were limp. Indeed, if it weren't for the stakes of wood holding him to the lavishly wallpapered, bloodied surface, he would have fallen.

Next to him on the wall, smeared in blood over the gilt wallpaper, read 'MINE NOW' in large, handwritten streaks.

She walked past Vlad, who let her approach the man pinned to the wall. His blood had a metallic, raw smell that made her nose twinge. Isabel stopped about two feet away - enough distance that if he moved, she would be safe. But something told her that would not be a problem.

He was… hollow.

"I don't… feel anything from him," she glanced back at Vlad. "The lights are on, but nobody's home."

"Excuse me?"

"A turn of phrase, m'lord," a vampire tried to provide helpfully from one side. "It means-" A snarl from Dracula silenced the man instantly.

Isabel stepped closer, and took the glove off her right hand. Reaching out, she touched Tim's bare arm - and…. Nothing happened. No rush of memories, no feelings - no visions. And she knew it wasn't because she could 'suddenly touch people.' "He's awake. Conscious. But nobody's inside. Wraith's not here. But neither is Tim…"

"Are you able to discern what happened to him? " Maverick asked her as he walked to her side, looking up at the vacant body of his companion. 'Bonded mortal' - whatever they wanted to call it.

Isabel let out a wavering breath, and reaching up with her bare hand, grabbed hold of one of the wooden table legs that kept Tim's body trapped against the wall. As her hand met the wood, she felt the vision take her over.

A hand was next to hers on the wood stake as she saw into the memory imprinted on the object. Turning her head, and looking at the man who had done the deed. Long, red hair that reached his shoulders. Piercing blue eyes. Perfect features, marred by a sadistic, fanged grin. A vampire. "I know you're watching, baby girl…" he purred.

Isabel froze. There was no mistaking that tone of voice. Wraith. In a different body.

"Don't you worry," he said with a smile, pushing the wooden object further into the limp body of Tim. "I'm not really here. You're just watching the instant replay." He took a step back, and picked up the other table leg that was lying on the floor, and flipped it over in his hand a few times, end-over-end, like a juggling club.

"Tim's in here now, with the rest of us-" he said as he tapped his temple with a thin finger. "I ate him, when I ditched that dumb ride for something… a bit more my speed." He stepped forward and rammed the wooden leg in through Tim's other shoulder. It made a sickening noise as it tore through sinew and bone. It almost sounded like a thick knife going into a watermelon. The wet sound of an inner structure being forced apart.

Isabel tried not to blanch as he leaned his weight into the shard of wood, pushing it further through Tim's limp, lifeless body with a ' _shlurp'_ and into the wall beyond. Tim was awake - alive - but there was no one there, no consciousness to register the pain.

Wraith - in the body of some unfortunate vampire - was now licking the blood off of his fingers slowly, luxuriously enjoying the sensation.

"Didn't want you to think I'd forgotten about you, sweet thing," he said as he finished. Wraith's voice turned dark as he flashed a vicious grin one more. "I'll be seeing you around… _real_ soon."

Isabel had seen enough, and she pulled her hand from the wooden stake. Despite her best attempts to mask what she had seen, she knew she was pale - and she quickly pulled her glove back onto her hand to help hide the fact that it was trembling.

"What did you see?" Maverick asked - insistent, but not rude.

"Tim's… gone." Isabel paused for a moment before elaborating. "Wraith can jump bodies. I saw him in the body of a vampire I don't recognize. Long red hair, blue eyes, medium frame. He… took Tim's soul - mind - whatever you want to call it - with him as he went…" Isabel looked up at the empty husk of the former companion and felt her heart crack. "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault," she said, quietly to the man who could not - nor would he ever - hear her words. "You didn't deserve this."

"This is not your fault," Maverick corrected gently. "Because of you, perhaps - but you had no part to play in this. Not a willing one, at the very least." Maverick shot a pointed glare at Vlad.

"I will excuse the insult, Maverick," Dracula responded with a dangerous edge to his tone. "For sake of your loss. But I will not excuse another."

Maverick's jaw clenched and he looked back to his former friend, pinned to the wall, and sighed. He reached out, and placed his hand on Tim's shoulder, and gave it a light squeeze. Saying farewell. Isabel felt the grief in him, the carefully contained pain. He was a 'gentleman' after all, and showing such things outwardly would be distasteful. Maverick turned to look at Vlad after a long moment. "His body will have to be destroyed."

"We can bring him to the forges beneath the castle," the frenchman vampire from before stepped forward to assist, a look of sympathy on his regal, gentry-born features. He was so very clearly 'from the castle,' and not one from the 'outside world' like Maverick. It was fascinating to see the two stand side-by-side in contrast. Both gentlemen, from ages long since gone. Both vampires, never to age. But one was left out to weather in the storm of the world, the other kept in a veritable time capsule in the Castle. She wondered idly which one thought they were the lucky one.

A thought occurred to her suddenly. The forge? "Is that how you… uh... " Isabel trailed off, not knowing how to finish her question.

"Release of someone who is bound to our blood?" the frenchman said with a faint, sad smile. "Yes, my lady… they must be reduced to ash, I am afraid."

"Ah," she replied, and didn't really know what else to do with that. It made her uncomfortable, to think that Tim would suffer that fate - but leaving him like this to waste away was worse. But that it was the only way 'release' someone from their blood-bound state to a vampire… meant that if she didn't die in the process, there really _was_ no way out.

It's not like she thought there ever was an open door for her. Some loophole. Some escape clause. But every time she found another way blocked, it darkened her world just a little bit more. Another nail in the literal coffin.

It still broke her heart, seeing Tim like this. They met in the worst of circumstances - with him kidnapping her, and her putting a bullet through his chest. And now, they said farewell in the worst of circumstances.

Isabel looked to Maverick, and wished she could fully explain what it was that she felt - but instead, could only say "I'm sorry…" The words were a pitiful attempt at explaining the breadth of 'sorry' she felt, but she hoped it would make due.

Maverick reached a hand out to her, meaning to put it on her shoulder. But Vlad still insisted she remain sleeveless - and his realized his mistake. He lowered his hand with a small shake of his head. "Thank you, Isabel. He was a dear friend. I will miss him. But such is our curse - to see those we care for fade away. Even if we may attempt to keep them alongside us for a time, it is oft a futile effort. We are creatures of blood - and such things follow us wherever we go." Maverick just barely smiled at her, more of a feeling than an expression. "But I fear you already know that."

 _It is time to go,_ she heard the vampire king echo into her head. She returned the faint smile at Maverick, and turned to walk back to Dracula. He held his hand out to her, and she took it, letting him pull her in close to him. She felt dwarfed by his massive frame, as she always did - and felt his mind curl around her like a cloak.

"Take care, Isabel," Maverick said before they disappeared in a roar of fire.

They reappeared - but not in his quarters as she had expected. This time, they were outdoors. It looked like some sort of garden, but it was small - walled in on all sides by the castle. Like a courtyard, she realized.

The sky was clear overhead, shining with stars that would have been blotted out by the light pollution of Boston. Instead, without the myriad of street lamps and city lights to marr the sky, the stars shone brightly. The moon was new, leaving them in darkness save for a few lightly burning torches in sconces along the columns that surrounded the courtyard garden.

Statuary - beautiful, mournful and twisted, stood amongst their leafy companions of shrubs, roses, flowering trees, and bushes. The walkway was entirely white marble, in stark contrast to the shadows cast by the dim lighting.

Dracula walked forward, still holding her hand, pulling her along with him as he lead her through the small courtyard. It was almost romantic. For a moment, she could have been fooled that they were lovers, sneaking away for a kiss. That this was normal. That they weren't a vampire king and a lost empath.

She realized it was arranged somewhat like an old maze - or a labyrinth. Too small to become lost, but the curved benches and marble-lined raised beds for the gardens created a sort of concentric circle pattern, leading towards the middle.

The center was a fountain - but not at all like the one she saw in her nightmares. This one was a classical, tiered construction, with water quietly bubbling over the edges, down to the basin beneath.

"What, no blood?" Isabel dryly observed.

Dracula looked back at her with a smirk, and then led her to the benches that ran alongside the fountain.

"Why're we here?" she asked curiously. "Not that I'm complaining for some fresh air."

"In the dream in which we first met - when you found me at the piano, do you remember?"

Isabel chuckled. How could she forget that? "You chased me through a garden," she replied. And then blinked, putting it together. "Oh. It looked a lot like this." She never would have thought that the King of Vampires would be 'sentimental,' but yet, it seemed so.

"That is where our chase began." He guided her to sit down on the bench in front of him. Without any real reason to disagree, she did so. He released her hand then, and she put them down on the bench next to her, feeling the cool marble underneath her touch, even through the gloves.

His red eyes glinted like embers, his pale features seeming even more so in the faint starlight. His next words were not cruel, but they felt like it. "And here, is where I would like it to end."

Fear suddenly gripped her, and she moved to recoil - but he placed a hand on one of her shoulders, his thumb against the side of her neck, and watched her carefully. Scrutinizing her reaction as he spoke. "We had an accord, little dove… did we not?"

Isabel swallowed, and looked away from his gaze - that always seemed to look through her. He was right. This was their deal. If he let her speak to Adrian, to convince him to leave - then she would willingly try to become his 'companion.' But it made it no less terrifying.

His hand slid gently up her neck, and then pressed his thumb just slightly into the bruise along her jaw. She winced, and glared up at him, her fear muted for a moment by her defiance. He smirked, having received the reaction he was looking for, but the amusement faded as quickly as it had come. "Let me heal you."

Her mind was reeling again, trying to find a way out. Trying to find an escape. "I… may I ask some questions first?"

Vlad shut his eyes, shook his head. "You are stalling." He moved without warning, the hand at her jawline moved to her shoulder, pressing her down onto the bench. Her cracked rib reminded her of its existence acutely and abruptly, and she catched her breath painfully in her lungs. She squeezed her eyes tight, trying to tell her muscles to _stop twitching, it just makes it worse._

When she was able to focus on anything other than the searing pain in her side, she opened her eyes to find that he was once again looming over her - one knee between her legs as he half-knelt on the marble bench, looking down at her with a predatory, curious expression.

One of his hands went to the bench beside her head, and he lowered himself down towards her - just as he had done in the dream where they had first met. A low noise in his throat - somewhere between a growl and a purr, and he leaned his head down towards her ear, and kissed the bruise that ran up along her jaw.

Isabel couldn't help it - she was trembling. From pain, from exhaustion - but mostly from him. He knew it, and she felt his lips curl into a smile against her skin as he moved his lips to her ear. "You have three questions…" he whispered to her.

Shit. Now she had to come up with questions. He pulled his head back to look down at her with an arched eyebrow - challenging her silence. Isabel knew he wasn't stupid - he knew quite well she was just pointlessly buying time. Delaying the inevitable.

"You die, and then return. … A lot," she said, barely above a whisper. One of her hands had found its way to his shirt and vest as he had moved in close to her - and she kept it there, tangled in the fabric. Half clinging _to_ him, half pushing him away. "If this works-" _which it probably won't,_ she added silently to herself, "And you 'die,' what happens to me?

"I do not know," he admitted. "I have never successfully bound another to my life. That is your first question."

Isabel knew he was, in no small way, enjoying her fear. Enjoying that even still the 'chase had ended,' she was prey. "Why not just turn me into a vampire, then?" Isabel had wondered that for some time.

"Twofold. First, you would be unable to be such a thing, with your innate gift… It would drive you mad, I believe, to drink from others." He replied, his free hand running a finger along her jawline, moving slowly to trace a pointed nail along the swell of her bottom lip. Her breath hitched as he did. "Perhaps it is a selfish desire. I will spend my eternity in the cold, my little dove. I do not wish to share my coffin with another corpse. I wish to have one bound to me, as I am to them... Not a creature created from my blood, lesser to myself." He leaned down, and let his lips take the place of his finger, kissing her slowly. She couldn't help but kiss him back, even through her fear. As he let the kiss break as slowly as it had began, he smirked down at her. "That was your second question…"

How is it that he could fill her with such dread and excitement, all at once?

Isabel knew he never lied to her, she would give him that much credit. He knew how pointless it was with her gift allowing her to see through any lie, but, even still, it seemed his way, to be truthful. So it made her very much not want to ask the next question. "Is it going to hurt?"

He grinned at her, enjoying the innocence of her question. "As it progresses… yes. It becomes a poison. But at first it, it is euphoric. Addicting. Indeed, it is… intoxicating. I am eager to see your reaction," he said ponderously.

It looked as though he wanted to eat her whole. She didn't doubt that he _could._

"That… was your third and last question. Now, where were we?" he said, a low rumble in his chest. "You thought perhaps you could distract me, away from the matter at _hand?_ " He said with a pleased grin, enjoying his own pun. Vlad placed the palm of his left hand over her cracked rib, and she hissed in pain as the skin lit up like a thousand needles prickled beneath her blouse. And he hadn't even pressed down.

"Funny, asshole," she growled at him. "I don't-"

His hand was suddenly at the back of her neck, pulling her head to his, and he was kissing her - exploring her with his tongue. It was a hunger. A need. A need to fill the void. The hope to replace the emptiness. A reminder that _she_ was different. _She_ was strong. More than any other that came before. A hope that those words were true.

A hunger for her warmth. Her life. He broke the kiss, slowly, his teeth grazing her lip as he pulled away from her. The hand in her hair slid to her chin, and he ran the tip of a pointed nail along the line of her lower lip again, tracing the pink skin, now swollen from his attentions.

"I remind you that you must be a willing partner in this..." he muttered to her quietly, more a rumble in his chest than a whisper. The finger that traced her lip now ran along her jawline, before slowly running his hand through her hair, nails barely brushing against her scalp. "You are a powerful mind. Stronger willed than most I have met, in my thousands of years. I have no doubt that if _you_ fight the poison, you will die. Your body would consume itself before your mind would surrender, I expect."

His hand was now at her collarbone, at the neckline of her blouse, his nails running a slow circle along her skin. It sent a chill down her spine, and she felt her body get hot and cold all at once. She shut her eyes, relishing it, shifting against him, feeling her own desire flare. Isabel could feel his own through his touch into her mind. Not just for her body - but for all of her.

He could turn her into putty in his hands so easily. She felt burned away in the heat of his caress, destroying any defiance she might have felt. Equal halves of her were screaming for him, and for her to run. But it was too late for that. She had made her decisions. She had cut her deals, stalled for time. The time for that was over. Maybe that was the influence of his mind on hers - the feeling of his touch and his presence that enwrapped her just beyond his touch, his cool skin on hers.

Without a word, he slipped the gloves from her hands, then the blouse from her body was next, slipping it up and over her head and discarded to the ground. It exposed her bruise, and the cool touch of air on her damaged skin was both wonderful, and painful at the same time. He let his hand trace along her bruise, careful not to cause _too_ much pain. She jolted at his touch all the same.

He spoke again, his voice low, a base rumble. "How beautiful… And you are mine." Isabel felt it hard to focus as his hand drifted again to the base of her neck, and she felt his thumb on her throat, and she knew he could feel her heartbeat beneath his fingertips. His cool skin against hers which seemed to grow hotter every second.

He shifted, narrowing the distance between them as he slid closer to her. She felt his body press against hers, and felt his cold breath against her ear as he growled low in his chest. Isabel could feel his hunger consuming him, and knew that it was _her_ he wanted to sate it. In more ways than one. "I can taste your fear…" A shiver ran down her spine at his words - at how much he enjoyed what he could bring out in her. How much he wanted to love her, and yet… hunt her. Consume her. He would forever be the wolf, and she the deer. "Let me erase the damage that has been done by another. I wish to decorate your flesh with my _own_ marks…"

Rational thought fled her mind for a moment as she let out a shuddering gasp as his nails traced dangerously down her side, teasing the edge of the bruise, and coming to rest against her hip. He was overwhelming - and she didn't stand a chance. For every part of her mind that still screamed that this was dangerous, every other part drowned it out with her own desire. He was terrifying. A spectre in the woods, a figure that would chase her - overcome her time and time again - and she _loved_ it. God help her. She wanted to feel him _take_ her.

Isabel tilted her head away slightly, revealing her neck to him. For the first time, she invited him to feed from her. For the first time, she admitted to herself that she needed it. And knew another part of her was now his. She had given him her body, her heart, and now her mind. Only the soul remained.

Another growl rumbled deep in Vlad's chest, and she felt his pure ecstasy at her willing surrender. The hand against her hip pulled her against him, pressing him into her, and she felt the desire already forming hard against her body. Isabel wasn't given a moment to process it, though, as his fangs pierced her skin.

Isabel cried out as the sharp pain turned quickly into something else. With the low tempo of her heart beat, the pain flashed into pleasure as his heart began to beat in time with hers. It was the only time he had a pulse - when he fed. She heard the low, primal purr deep in his chest as he drank from her. It felt like it had gone on for minutes, although she was sure not nearly that much time had passed. Slowly, he pulled away from her neck, and she felt his tongue run lazy circles around the mark, licking up what little blood he had spilt.

Her head swam as he slowly pulled away. He straightened up, still with one knee on the bench. She watched as he undid the buttons of his shirt, and pulled the fabric apart, baring his pale, muscular chest. Putting a hand to his collarbone, he ran the sharp nail of his pointer finger against the skin. Isabel watched as the line turned red, and began to seep the dark red blood of the vampire. _Some of that is mine,_ she observed idly.

He reached his hand out to her, and she placed her hand tentatively in his. Gently, supporting her back with his other hand, he pulled her up to him. Isabel knelt, both knees on the bench, looking up at him. She paused, unsure - her breath quick, her head still swimming.

But, he did not force her - his hand stayed on her neck, but it was clear the choice was hers to make.

This was the end of the path for her. She let her hands rest against his chest, and she leaned in, kissing the pale skin of his collarbone gently. His hand stroked her hair. The smell of his blood was different than what had been spilt by Tim. She couldn't place it at all.

There was no returning from this. But the decision had been made long ago. She couldn't refuse him - what was the point?

When she let herself tentatively, shyly lick along the red line, she heard Vlad moan, low in his throat - and glancing up at him, his head was back, eyes shut.

The liquid tasted odd - not like she'd expect. Not the salty, metallic taste of her own blood. Isabel realized the feeling she was starting to sense growing inside her was her own hunger - that some deep part of her wanted this. Something primal in her was calling out for it, now that the first drop had passed her lips.

Isabel felt something else in her take over - some other instinct took command as she began to hungrily drink from him. Vlad moaned again, and she felt his fingers tangle in her hair, as he held her head to him, his moan turning to a low snarl as she fed.

The line between them muddied as she drank - feeling both the sensation of his hot blood against her lips and his pleasure as it fled his body. The feeling of his skin against her hand, the feeling of her hot lips against his body. With a _snap_ \- the link was broken. She whimpered as he pulled her head back from the wound.

"No-" she murmured, but her words were cut silent as he kissed her, and she could feel the desire and hunger still rampaging within him. The taste of his own blood in his mouth, the taste of hers mingled within his.

 _Enough for now, my pet…_

Even though she was no longer drinking from him - her head wouldn't clear. Isabel suddenly felt… high. She had never done drugs before in her life - tried weed once or twice, sure. But never the 'hard stuff' they saw on the road all the time. That said, she had once been given opiates to treat a broken ankle in the jungle when she had to hobble back to the jeep. That warm, fuzzy - detached and buzzing sensation - that's what this felt like. Her body was vibrating with every touch, every feeling, and she just somehow felt _more_ of everything. Everything was… brighter. Sharper. And she wanted more.

His tongue pushed its way possessively past her lips, tangling with her own, as he kissed her with a demanding need. His hand went to her bruised side, and _squeezed._

Isabel let out a startled cry, and recoiled from his lips - and realized… it hadn't hurt. He opened his eyes, the smoldering embers of his gaze scorching her. Isabel looked down to the injury - and saw that it was nearly entirely gone. Instead of a dark and angry rainbow of colors, it was now only a barely visible yellow stain on her skin.

He reached behind her now with both hands, undid her bra and slipped it from her body, tossing it aside. He raked a claw across her skin, leaving raised marks as he did, and she hissed in pain through her teeth. "You belong to _me_ now... " he growled. He lowered his head to her, and let his tongue slowly slide along the blood he had drawn. As she watched, the wound underneath… healed. Vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared. Then, he arched her backwards, lowering his head and pulled her nipple into his mouth, biting down hard enough to hurt. Isabel cried out as he did, and arched her back into him.

She couldn't deny that it hurt - and couldn't deny that god, it felt _good._ With his blood still in her body, the lancing moments of pain made it more intense. Every movement of his nails across her skin brought a sharp pain, and then a… tingle, as it healed.

He raised his head from her, and she felt his hand slip up between her breasts, to her mouth, slipping his index finger past her moist, parted lips. She instantly closed her mouth around him, running her tongue in slow circles around his digit, tasting his skin, letting her eyes slip shut at the sensation.

He moaned, deep in his throat. He tilted her back up to meet his kiss, his tongue hungrilly deviling in to ravish her once again.

She wanted more. She wanted to taste more of him. Of his skin. Of everything about him. No - she didn't just want to. She _needed_ to. … She just didn't know what to do. Isabel felt him grin against her, and then his mind echoed inside of hers. _Then kneel…_

Isabel couldn't describe the feeling that suddenly took over the pit of her stomach - desire, excitement, fear - all of it. It was an empty hole that threatened to fill up with a loss of control that scared her. But it was too late. The rush of his blood tearing through her felt too good to fight. She would fall into that pit happily, if it meant more of _him._

Vlad shifted, moving to sit on the bench as she moved with him, feeling unsure and never more sure of anything in her life. She could feel his eyes piercing through her as he watched, hungrily waiting to see if she would again submit to her desire.

There wasn't any other option. She needed it too badly. Her body - her mind - was crying out for him. She sunk down to her knees in front of him and she slipped in closer to him. Despite her inexperience, she wasn't naive. And she had never been terribly 'shy.' And besides - she had the memories of a thousand people running through her mind…

He let her move forward of her own volition. He wanted to see how deep her hunger truly ran - and if it would challenge her conviction. She ran her hands along the fabric of his pants, up towards the bulge that so clearly outlined his own want.

Any shyness, any nervousness was crushed by the pounding of the blood in her veins. She was drunk on him. Drunk on her hunger. By her _need_ to have more of him. If she couldn't have his blood, she'd consume him in other ways.

Running her hand over his erection, she leaned her head in and kissed it over the fabric, and she heard a low growl from him - and could feel his sudden impatience. With little assistance, she worked the clasp to his pants and freed his manhood from its confines. Letting her own desire guide her, she took his hard length in her hand and slowly ran her tongue up along it, tasting his skin.

Vlad hissed in air through his teeth, and she felt him twitch in her hand, felt him - cool against her hot breath, even as it throbbed against her, thrumming with the heartbeat he had borrowed from her. She let her tongue wander along him - her eyes sliding shut as she gave in to the abandon that was pulling her to the edge.

His hand tangled in her hair again as she explored him - her inexperience leading her to wander as she relished her first time doing _anything_ like this. Never once did she imagine she'd ever kiss a man, let alone…

Suddenly, his hand fisted in her hair and he pulled on it, tilting her head back ever so slightly, to look down at her face as she knelt between his legs. She gasped as he did, her lips parted - the pain of the tug felt amazing. Vlad lingered there for a moment, watching her, savoring her, before he loosened his grip, if barely, to let her the freedom to explore him once more. Fingers still tangled in her soft hair.

"You… are truly gorgeous," he said to her, his voice husky and low. "You will ever surprise and delight me…" The words inspired her to be bolder, to let her tongue wander around the tip of his length, swirling around him slowly. Finally, she parted her lips, and slid him into her mouth, moaning quietly, and feeling his skin vibrate with her muffled noise.

With a tight moan in return, his hand gripped her hair again. His hips pressed up towards her - urging her her to take him further. To cease her unintentional teasing. She obliged him, feeling him slip deep into her, her lips sealed around him as he pressed her head down onto him. She felt him pull at her hair, lifting her head along him before pressing her back down. Isabel gave in to the rhythm, embraced it, feeling him push further and further into her mouth with every press - moaning and whimpering as he did. Instinctively, she began to suck on him in time with the motions, and wrapped her hand around what of him was left.

He snarled, his breath choppy and ragged as he fisted her hair tightly. The soft, sultry lips around him threatened to undo him. Yet, she was so oblivious to what she was capable of, innocent to what she could do to him… Unbelieving, perhaps. It made it all the more wonderful. "Nngh… yes… Just like that…"

Isabel felt his mind tangled up in her own. Every time a jolt ran through him, she felt it like it was her own. Every rush of pleasure was hers to share. Their desires were a muddled, blurry mess between them. Who wanted _what_ was meaningless. It made it impossible not to continue.

When he pushed himself deeper into her throat, she resisted the urge to gag - forced herself not to tense as he cut off her air. He held himself there for a long moment, before letting up the pressure on the back of her head. She pulled away from him and gasped, and looked up at him, panting for breath.

"Oh, my beautiful little creature… Reading my mind as if to torture me… If you continue, I am afraid you will meet the beast in me…"

She ran her fingers along her lips, still tasting him in her mouth, lightheaded. The rush of his blood still pouring through her. His eyes followed the movement of her hand and the growl in his throat crescendoed as she suddenly found herself planted firmly on her back on the bench once more.

He had half thrown her, half placed her there - and she let out a startled 'unf!' as he was suddenly on top of her. Supporting himself on his forearm, his other hand snapped around her throat, and squeezed - just enough to restrict her air, but not silence it all together. Just enough to make it clear who was in command. She moaned and arched underneath him, pressing herself against his chest - and couldn't deny what the feeling did to her.

His lips were against her ear, whispering to her as he pressed his body against hers. "You are my angel and my devil, aren't you… Your innocence… your raw, unbridled corruption… You tempt me now? Do you truly know the _depths_ to which I am capable of bringing you…?"

She knew she was playing with fire, and she could feel his violent _want._ Once she went down this path, there was no turning back. To accept him as what he was - that meant to accept _all_ of it. All the violence - the darkness - the twisted side she could feel beneath the surface.

Opening her eyes, she met his, and reached up to pull his face to hers, kissing him with her own passion - wanting to feel him against her lips again. He kissed her back, snarling low in his throat as he was pulled one more step towards losing control. Everything she did, every motion, every unguided and wanton noise - brought forth by nothing but her surrender to it all, threatened to send him over the edge.

His thoughts were her own, and she felt the power she had over him - even as she lay there, pinned beneath him, even as he promised to do god-knows-what things to her, she wanted it. Wanted him to do it all.

Isabel was barely aware of him removing the rest of her clothes - his lips didn't leave hers for more than a moment. It wasn't until he grabbed her hips, roughly, that anything broke the kiss. And it was white-hot pain as he rammed into her at full tilt, taking no pity on her.

She cried out, arching her back against him, as his hand dug into her skin. His onslaught was merciless, brutal - and her mind went blank from it all. Her pain, her pleasure, his ecstasy. He lifted her hips to him, snarling in his throat as he ravished her. The line between their minds was meaningless.

 _So fragile. So resilient. Mine._

She was crying out sharply with each impact, each hard thrust of him into her body - her mind empty of all things but _him_. The maddening tempo continued for what seemed like minutes, or like hours. All she knew was the violence - the pleasure. The feeling of him.

As her body flashed white-hot again, this time as her pleasure climaxed and threatened to end all thought for good, it was too much for him. It had all been too much for him. He let out a primal snarl - as he too, was engulfed.

Isabel felt like there was nothing left that hadn't been burned away in the passion. His lips met hers in a fierce, all-devouring kiss as he kept her body crushed against his, even as the tempo had ended.

 _Oh, how I wonder if you understand what you have undone in me,_ he purred into her mind, and dragged his nails against the skin of her side, making her squirm underneath him. _How much I will enjoy dragging you into the depths of my soul._

He stood, suddenly, yanking her up with him - and in a roar of fire they were gone. She could barely register what was happening. He crushed her against him once more in a kiss, before he suddenly whirled her around, pressing her back to his chest, one of his hands splaying across her stomach. The other arm wrapped around her, pinning her to him as he kissed her shoulder - again and again, letting his teeth nip at her skin every time.

Isabel couldn't help but moan, letting her head roll away from him. She felt drunk - hypnotized, even. Wrapped up in everything he was. His hands ran across her skin, along her stomach, her breasts, her hips. If he had not been holding onto her, her knees would have given out.

He pushed her forward suddenly, and she squeaked as she bumped into something. She opened her eyes and realized they were in his private crypt. What he had pushed her into was the edge of his coffin. That was about as much thought as she could put together before he was on her again, pressing his lips against her throat beneath her ear.

His hands were on her breasts, kneading the skin, rolling her nipples between his fingers before he slid one up to her shoulder, and pushed her down, bending her over the edge of the black lacquered wood. She felt him press against her entrance again, and his hands ran along her back, slowly tracing the lines of her muscles as he reached her hips, gripped them with both hands and drove his length into her, trapping her between the hard wood surface and his muscular body as she cried out.

He pressed hard against her until he filled her completely. It hurt. And she wanted more. His hand snaked into her hair and pulled, tilting her head and arching her back. He leaned into her, letting his tongue run up her jaw slowly to her ear, and whispered. "I will enjoy corrupting you, slowly, piece by piece…"

What followed was savage, primal - and threatened to empty her mind of all thought for good. With their minds, their blood, their bodies, tangled in each other, there was nothing else in the world that existed to her.

Her body reached the precipice, as he turned her head to kiss her, voraciously. She cried out against him, muffled as her body writhed beneath his, her body overcome as he continued his torment. He joined her there a few moments later, growling loudly as he slammed his fist into the lid of his coffin.

Isabel felt like she could barely move - like her limbs were foreign to her as he gently lifted her, and scooped her up in his arms. She heard, more than she saw, the lid of the coffin open. Velvet and fabric followed, and then darkness.

She could feel the effects of his blood wearing off - and it left her spent, tired, and unwilling to move. The crash from the high.

His arms were around her, holding her close as she felt herself begin to slip into unconsciousness. A gentle kiss on her forehead was the last thing she remembered.


	16. Chapter 16

**Thanks again for the reviews! Here's another chapter. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 _We are creatures of blood - and such things follow us wherever we go._

Maverick's words rang in her head as she found herself in a tide of blood - drowning in the boiling waves, tossed about like so much seafoam.

Blood is the currency of life.

Blood is the currency of death.

And it remains doubly so for those trapped in between. That is where she was now, she knew - trapped somewhere between life, and death.

She had found herself in this ocean once before - when she had touched the sword that Dracula had been buried with. When she was trying to find a way out of the her predicament with Dracula, and had failed in spectacular fashion. The sword had contained the castle itself. Now she was in it again - feeling the hot liquid around her, pressing against her. It was a deafening roar around her, wave over wave, driving her deeper and deeper into the abyss with each impact

 _ **He is ours!**_

Isabel pushed back, kicking and struggling as hard as she could - fighting to keep above the churn of the storm. Fighting to keep her mind her own. A dream, that's what this had to be. But here, in the castle - everything was possible. Dreams - especially hers, were as good as reality. A battle of wills made visceral and lucid.

 _ **You will not take him from us!**_

It was trying to kill her - right here, right now - she knew it. She summoned everything she could, and forced back against it. " _Stop!"_

The deafening noise stopped abruptly, leaving a ringing in her ears. Without warning, it was like the ground was suddenly beneath her feet. An elevator of hard surface that pushed her upwards - or maybe the blood was draining away. It was impossible to tell.

But now, instead of being lost in the waves of a hurricane, she was kneeling in a flat, glass-like lake of blood. It stretched on around her as far as she could see, with nothing to disturb the perfect stillness of the endless liquid. The world was lit by an ugly, putrid maroon sky. It looked as if there were clouds, but no sun behind it, leaving it uniformly glowing a sickly, languid color. It had the look of the sky before a bad storm. When the world is 'side lit' and overwhelmingly quiet.

She pushed herself up to standing, sending ripples in the surface of the blood flowing outwards from her. Looking down at her hands, they were clean, and somehow perfectly dry. It was like the blood wanted nothing to do with her.

 _ **You will not take him from us!**_

The voice repeated itself - booming and whispering - unbearably loud and silent all at once. The voice was shouting straight into her mind. She winced, putting her hands to her ears. "Stop yelling at me!"

Something was suddenly under the blood that just barely reached her knees. It was like a shape in front of her was moving underneath the surface. Slowly, what it was began to be clear. Oh god. Isabel jumped backwards as a figure stood up from the liquid. No. More like it formed _from_ the viscous substance.

Dracula stood before her. But it wasn't him - not really. Instead of long black hair, it was jet white - as she had seen once in a memory. His eyes, instead of just the irises being red - were entirely taken over in shades of the color, from lid to lid. He was dressed entirely in deep and darkened shades of crimson. He moved towards her - and it was like he were made of the blood around them, struggling to keep its shape. The red liquid dripped from his hands or the trim of his clothing now and then, into the ocean of blood at his feet.

It was the castle, taken form. Taken _his_ form. Isabel stepped back as he stepped forward. She was forever to be pursued by the vampire king, it seemed. "Very well - this body should better _please you_." the creature hissed.

The creature that stood before her oozed blood as he moved, looking like he would melt at any point - constantly forming and reforming from the blood around him.

"It's quieter, so y-yeah, thanks-" she stammered, uselessly, trying to put together everything that she was seeing - everything it had said so far. "You're the castle, aren't you."

"I am no more the castle," the creature said through a cruel laugh, "than a bolt of lightning is the sky itself!" He stepped towards her as if he would tear to pieces.

"Okay, okay, I get it… I get it. I don't mean any trouble, I really don't- " she raised her hands, trying to show she was harmless, didn't want to fight. That she wasn't a threat.

It didn't seem to believe her, and stepped forward again. "You will not take him from us. He _belongs_ to us!"

Isabel took another step back, keeping her hands up. "I am not taking him from you… I'm not taking him anywhere."

" _Lies!"_ the creature howled.

"I'm not lying - I'm not lying!" she cried as it lunged towards her. She staggered backwards and fell into the thick liquid, barely managing to keep her head above water.

"We will _not be imprisoned again. We will not be abandoned by him once more!"_ the creature roared angrily at her.

"Please. Please calm down," she was shaking, and knew that if this thing could kill her, permanently, in both the dream world and the real one, it would do so - and do so happily. All she needed was the castle _itself_ trying to kill her. "Give me a chance to explain." Isabel pushed herself up to standing, still holding a hand out towards it in defence - trying to placate the angry…. thing.

"You are pretty words, a pretty mind, and a pretty body to lure him away from us. All are _lies._ " the creature stalked towards her again. Isabel made ripples in the bloody lake when she moved. But he did not. He left the surface still as glass.

"You're mad… because he locked you all up in that sword - and tried to escape this repeating pattern," she surmised. She remembered the images of Harker and Van Helsing, locking Dracula away in that crypt, when she had touched the iron door to the vault. Vlad had stuck the castle (and, she guessed, everyone with it,) away in that blade to escape his fate. It hadn't worked. "You're afraid that if I survive this, that I'll convince him to do it again? And then what, galavant around the world with me instead? Play tourist through history? Settle down and have some nice little cottage on a lake?" she snorted. "You can think what you want of me, I'm not stupid."

"Then what _do you_ wish for?" the creature retorted. " _Freedom?_ There will be none for you but _in_ _death._ And when you die within our reach… you will _never_ _return,_ " it hissed angrily. "The others, we let linger in death - but you… your soul we will consume entirely… You reach too easily across the veil."

She felt a chill run through her as the castle threatened her with oblivion. Being an empath, threats were far more visceral for her than for most, as she could feel not only the threat itself, but the anger that the threat belied. "Listen to me," she insisted. "I don't know what I want, but it's never been to try and get him to leave this place. I'm trying to get him to _move_ everything, fine. But never to abandon it. Why would I do that? You have my only friends in this world. I walked through your doors trying to save them. If I convinced Dracula to trap you all away, I'd be doing the same to them, wouldn't I?"

It snarled, but she saw its conviction falter, of only for a moment - so she kept talking. "I have no reason, none at all, to make him leave you. I swear it."

 _ **He belongs to us!**_

That echoed in her mind again, deafening. She recoiled in pain, and tried to push the voice from her mind. It almost dropped her to her knees. It took all her strength to talk, but her voice sounded far-away in her own ears through the ringing it left behind. "You know him better than I do! You know the path ahead is nothing to him but death, and hatred. And how badly he yearns for something _else._ He's tried to abandon you before. Killing me won't stop that. Letting me live, might."

" _Explain,"_ it hissed through its teeth.

"Here're your options… kill me, and he goes back to trying to find a new way out of this cycle. Let me continue to try and become 'bound' to him, or whatever, and I most-likely die anyway. If I succeed, just maybe, he might be content for a time…"

"Until he bores of you, and has you cast into the forges like that little insect."

The thought of being chucked into a molten vat of iron made her stomach twist, but she tried not to let her incredibly visual imagination put too many details into it. "And then you kill me anyway… Either way, if I live for the time being, you win."

"Perhaps. But I cannot trust you. You are a talented liar, aren't you…? I know you, for you are _human._ You will protect your _diseased, worthless ilk._ You will seek to destroy us, as others have before you!" It lunged towards her again, and before she could move it was on her. Isabel's hair twisted painfully in its grasp and she cried out as it bent her head back to look up at it. The familiar, yet foreign face of the vampire king glaring down at her. "You will die, like all the rest!"

Isabel screamed as it tore out her throat with the sharpened nails of one hand.

* * *

Isabel awoke with a start, sitting up quickly, slamming her head into the lid of the coffin. " _Shit - fuck!"_ she groaned as she put her hands to her head. She wasn't sure if it was the coffin or her head that had made the hollow 'thunk' noise as the two met.

A dark laugh filled the silence after she finished swearing. "Quite a way to wake, I must say…"

"Shut up," she mumbled.

Fingers tangled through her hair, then stroked it back away from her face. "What is it that disturbed you so?"

"Your castle threatened me. I'm getting really sick of everybody _threatening_ me. First you, then Wraith, now this."

"The castle obeys me, and means no harm to you." He stroked her hair again, trying to console her. Her heart was pounding in her ears. "T'was only a nightmare, little dove."

Isabel pushed up from him slightly, trying to see his face in the darkness - not sure why she bothered. "No. It wasn't. I promise you. Vlad, we have to talk. The things it said-" she came to a sudden realization that broke into her thoughts full force and temporarily shoved everything else aside. "Wait. …. I'm naked, aren't I?"

Vlad laughed again, this time out of pure amusement. "Do you remember much of last night?"

Isabel tried to think back. "I remember the crypt. I remember what happened to Tim. The garden you brought me to, and then-" she felt her face blush scarlet as it came flooding back to her, like a dream she had struggled to remember and suddenly snapped clear. His blood. And everything else that went with it. "Oh." She paused for a long time, and could feel his continued amusement at her. "That's why I'm naked."

"Indeed." She didn't need to be an empath to hear how entertained he was.

Isabel dropped her head onto his chest with a sigh, which brought another deep chuckle out of the ancient vampire. "We still need to talk," she muttered.

"As you wish. I have much to attend to this evening, that yesterday was much… neglected." He insinuated, still amused. "Matters such as locating Wraith. Do you believe yourself to be in imminent danger?"

"No more than usual," she admitted with a grumble.

"Good," he placed a kiss on the top of her head, and she felt cooler air against her skin as he pushed the lid to the coffin open above him. "You will be safe in my quarters - and I will leave you guarded. Once I return, we will discuss all of what has transpired." He tilted her head to look up at him, with a finger crooked under her chin. The vampire kissed her - almost… reverently. It was the first time he had done such a thing, in that way - and she wasn't sure why it almost stopped her heart in her chest.

* * *

As he had said, she was left alone in his quarters. She was happy for a shower, and even happier for food. She was _starving -_ and wondered if her having drank his blood had anything to do with that.

Other than the hunger, she felt no ill effects from what had happened. He had said it would not kill her the first time she drank from him, but she expected _something_ to have happened. At least the bruises from two days prior were now entirely gone - and her skin looked as good as new.

When Vlad left, he said he would 'send someone to guard her.' When she asked exactly who he could trust not to be Wraith in disguise, he had only smirked and left her without an answer. Maybe Lyon the priest, she guessed. The tall, incredibly-kind-if-marblesque vampire had put Adrian down flat, and was clearly a force to be reckoned with. And Dracula seemed to trust him implicitly.

Since she was apparently spending the day by herself, she decided to dress for comfort and not for fashion, as Vlad seemed keen on her doing. It really was something foreign to her - she never tried to stand out, in fact she preferred blending in and not being seen. But, jeans and a black hoodie were clearly unacceptable for someone seen with Vlad Tepes Dracula. Isabel found, after drudging through what was put for her in a wardrobe, something she thought she might never see again.

A shirt. With _long sleeves_ and a _hood._ Oh, sure, it was some ridiculously low-cut, laced-up number that looked like somebody couldn't decide between 'formal corset' and 'casual hoodie.' She wore a tank top under it - as she wasn't willing to stomp around the castle like some of the women she'd seen so far. But it seemed as close as Vlad was going to get to a 'compromise' with her choice of clothing. She left the hood off her head, a she knew it'd annoy him to find her hiding behind her old patterns.

Vlad must intend to be gone for a while, as she also found the guitar that he had gifted her, propped up against one wall. She wouldn't be too upset for a little time to herself. She flopped down into a chair, tuned the guitar, and began strumming it idly, picking out a tune as she went. Humming the tune as she went, she tried to let her mind sort out the state of her life - and the new addition to the list creatures who wanted her head on a stick - at its own pace.

A knock on the door interrupted her. Opening it, she smiled at who she saw. Sure enough, she was greeted by the gentle, cold countenance of the priest. He looked so much like the statues in his cathedral. Which came first, she wondered.

She stood aside to let him enter. He bowed at the waist, and entered. "I figured it'd be you," she said, pleased at least it wasn't a stranger.

"It will bring Lord Dracula no small annoyance to think he is predictable. I will make special note to tell him such," he said with a small smile.

Isabel laughed. He had a weird, extremely dry sense of humor. But at least he had one. She shut the door behind him. "I'd offer you something, but, none of this is mine, so… I guess… make yourself at home? I don't know." She finished with a shrug.

"I thank you for your kindness," he replied, as he walked to a chair by the center of the room, turning to face her with one hand folded behind his back like a gentleman of old. "Your confusion is quite excusable. You are much removed from your normal condition, and it would be disconcerting for any to find oneself the houseguest of our particular shared acquaintance."

"I wish people still talked like you do," Isabel said as she walked back to where she had been sitting moments prior, and flopped back down in the chair. "I think people would fight a lot less if they all spoke as eloquently as that. Or at least make it more fun to listen to."

"Perhaps," he sat down, having been waiting for her to do so first. "In my own experience, the quality or quantity of words has little bearing on the level of violence they bring. My days were no less filled with bloodshed."

She chuckled once and shrugged. "People are always the same, I guess."

"In my experience, that is ever the case."

She smiled faintly. Something about that was disheartening and comforting at the same time. Picking up her guitar again, she began strumming it again quietly, picking out a tune. Realizing that it might be rude, she stopped and looked up at the priest, who was sitting, ever like the statue he resembled - not even moving. At all.

That was the eerie thing about him, she realized. When he was still - he was _perfectly_ still. Living people were always moving in one way or another. Breathing, the movement of eyes, shifting just slightly. Even Vlad did these things, from time to time. But of all the vampires she had the (mis)fortune to meet in recent days, none were ever so perfectly still as Lyon.

"I'm sorry," she said, as she stopped playing. "I didn't ask if this bothered you. I used to play a lot, and I haven't had the chance to recently. It helps me clear my head."

"On the contrary. I am very much enjoying listening to you play."

She began picking out a tune again, but still quietly, keeping it down tempo. Something told her he wouldn't be keen on industrial rock. "That's what you do, isn't it? Listen."

"What leads you to believe so?"

Isabel shrugged. "Empath. It's my job to get a read on people."

"And what do you 'read' from me, I wonder?" he asked, and seemed genuinely interested. Not in the party-trick, 'do me next' kind of way that happened to her from time to time. Instead it was an earnest, keen interest in what she might see in him.

She looked up at him, pausing in her strumming, to focus. "You're kind. That's the easy one. But also… sad. Forlorn. You've suffered, more than you've gained. Some, like Dracula, react to that with anger and hatred. You simply… shoulder the pain."

She paused for a moment, looking down and to the side, letting her eyes lose focus as she saw something else. "Venice. A cathedral in Venice. A young man and a woman - you were… helping them flee something. Or someone, and-" Blood. It ended in blood. Isabel winced, feeling the pain of his failure, and couldn't voice it. When she looked up at him, she saw the sorrow in his eyes, if not his features. "-I'm sorry," she forced herself to snap out of the connection. "Sometimes I can't control how deep I go," she apologized quickly.

"That is an… impressive gift, my lady…" he said quietly. "Please, do not apologize. That was… comforting."

"I don't think I've ever heard it described like that."

"When one is ancient, one loses the attachment to the ways of the living world. Life, love, pain, loss… You become hollow. Cruel. To know that you can sense such things, is to know that I can still feel them." He leaned back in the chair, watching her thoughtfully. "The couple you saw perished at the hands of Master Dracula."

He was a stone statue, painted in alabaster tones. Flawless. But he was bleeding underneath. Yet there was a quiet joy at his own suffering. Exaltation in his pain. Images of both men flew into her mind from him - claw and sword clashing, desperate in a vicious fight to kill the other. Both betrayed by the other. "How did it end..?" she asked, unable to not know the ending to the story.

Lyon made a small noise, almost a laugh - and shut his eyes. "Of course, I was bested by my elder. He is my sire, after all. Master Dracula murdered the young pair you saw before my eyes. In his cruelty and his kindness both, he spared me. Perhaps he did so in spite of, or inspired by, my traitorous actions."

"And what did you do..?"

"I forgave him, and sought to council him in his violent tendencies." Eyes, the color of ice at dawn, opened again to watch her keenly.

She let his words and the weight of his story settle before she spoke again. Of course, she had to make some sort of half-assed, barely thought-through comment to end the silence. "I guess, that's what you do. Forgive, and shoulder the problems of others."

"I am a priest, after all." A slight twinge of a smirk revealed the slightest hint that he was poking fun at himself.

"About that," she leaded, glad for anything to change the subject. "A priest of God, well, the christian god, right? And not the other options." She took up strumming chords again, his story turning over in her mind. "That's gotta be complicated. Given where you live."

"I forgive the confusion in others in regards to my unique state of being," he said, his thin lips turning up with a fully bemused smile. "Many would assume that due to my nature, I must worship a cadre of demons or some fallen angel, whatever the choice of the century may be."

Isabel shook her head. "Then they just want to hate something, and picked you. I think, in all horrible, worthless acts people can do, that's the worst. To want to hate something outside yourself, and then to chose out of stupidity, ignorance, fear… convenience. Whatever it is." Isabel realized she was playing the chords to 'No Surprises,' and that made her smile.

"I cannot disagree."

Their dialogue peacefully drifted away. He wasn't a conversationalist. Seemed vampires generally weren't, in her limited experience. Her tune ended, and she switched tunes to one she loved, but hadn't thought about in years. 'Back to Black.' Poor girl.

Music had an ability to make you think, no matter your situation, age, class, or bearing, that somehow the song applied directly to _your_ life. That it held some deep window into your soul. No matter how ridiculous the conditions of either your moment in time or the song itself. She was sure 'I am the Walrus' held some deep spiritual meaning to somebody, somewhere. Why had this song sprung to her mind? Just because she liked it?

She started to quietly sing the lyrics, trying to sort out in her own mind why it had risen to the forefront.

' _You went back to what you knew. So far removed from all that we went through… And I tread a troubled track, my odds are stacked. I'll go back to black. We only said goodbye in words - I died a hundred times. You go back to her, and I go back to… I go back to us…'_

Ah. That's what it was that made her think of it. The castle had screamed that Dracula belonged to _it._ She would not take him away from _them._ It was easier to think of the castle now as a spurned ex, maybe. A creature who felt that she was just the 'easy,' comfortable and familiar solution. But not the _right_ choice. It helped rationalize the impossible. Better to think of it that way, than a psychotic deranged force of nature trying to kill her in a turf war over the _original vampire_.

Isabel herself was, in its eyes, just another momentary distraction. One of a hundred times. She smirked sadly, cruelly remarking that it was very likely right. And who knew if Dracula would, or could, ever 'love' her, in the end? He cared for her, he said. That was a start. But she'd likely die before it could progress, she knew. It was a sick love triangle, wasn't it? A vampire king, a semi-sentient castle, and… her. Shit, she was out of her league in every possible way.

She didn't continue singing the lyrics - namely not wanting to have to explain to the thousands-year-old vampire priest what 'puff' and 'blow' were.

It was amazing what music could do - summoned from the subconscious, to apply a new view on the woes of the day. Even if it was a stretch, it gave her a new perspective.

"You are troubled, my lady. What is wrong?"

She looked up at him, and cursed her heart-written-on-her-sleeve, transparent expressions. A question for a question seemed the easiest way forward. "Can I ask you something?" she spoke after a long pause, using the chords of the song to sort her thoughts.

"Of course."

"When Dracula dies, what happens? When somebody - Adrian, or whoever - comes in here and kills him. The castle disappears?"

"To outside observers, it crumbles to rubble and dust."

"So he dies. Lies in a casket until he wakes up for some reason or another."

"Yes."

"But where? What happens to all of you? What happens to everybody who's… stuck in here?" she asked.

"To us…" Lyon shifted in his seat - and that was the first time she saw him move out of reflexive reaction to something. He seemed reluctant to speak, but finally pushed himself forward. "It is terribly difficult to explain, my Lady, and I am hardly a poet."

"Just try. I'm an empath, I put things together pretty easily," she smiled at him playfully. "And just call me Isabel, or Izzy, or Iz, please. I'm not a 'lady' and I never will be."

He smiled. "Isabel it is, then. Thank you." Lyon took a silent moment to ponder over his words. "It is like a dream. Time passes, and yet it does not. We exist, in this place - in a world outside of our own. In that place, the castle can neither grow, create new beings, nor can things truly… change. We cannot depart this place, for it is trapped inside a void. We are frozen in time, and yet awake at once. Many creatures enter a long sleep, as the Master does."

Isabel nodded slowly, to signify that she heard him. Her mind poured over his words, trying to picture in her mind what it must be like to be trapped in that waking dream. "Everything is stagnant."

"Indeed, I believe it would begin to decay, if given enough time in neglect by Lord Dracula," Lyon added, leaning back and tapping a single pale finger on the arm of his chair. It seemed an unusual movement from the priest - who felt no need to be active. A flurry of emotions and thoughts raced about under the alabaster surface.

"Blood isn't alive if it isn't moving," she muttered.

"What did you say?"

"Sorry. Look," she stopped playing for a moment, putting her hand across the strings, stilling the vibration. "I'll be honest with you. The castle threatened my life in a dream last night. Screamed that it wouldn't let me 'take him away from it.'"

Lyon's brow furrowed as he looked at her, concerned. For a moment, she was afraid he wouldn't believe her, as Vlad had. But sorrow overcame the concern, and he shook his head. "I believe it has done this before, when he attempted to shirk his part of the arrangement twixt the two."

"Arrangement?"

"One without words, perhaps… Lord Dracula created this place, and the being that lives at its' heart. It draws from him, from the blood he and all his progeny have spilt. The countless lives that were spent upon the empty air over time immemorial would gather unto him, if it had nowhere else to go. He would go mad. So instead, unconsciously, this place was born. A product of all who have lived and died due to creatures such as we. Many speak of it as a demon. Perhaps it is."

"So it's not the first time someone around here has created something insane, instead of going insane themselves," Isabel muttered with no small amount of bitterness.

Lyon nodded sadly, knowing quite well what was going on with 'Wraith.' "All that you see that are the creatures in this place that were not born of the world such as I and many others - are product of the dreams of the castle and its Master. They are the love and unwavering dedication it has for him. From time to time, other Masters arise, and it serves them. Walter Bernhard, William Barker, and so on. Others have attempted to create a place similar to this - and succeeded, for a time. But they have all crumbled and remained so. All but this place."

"It thinks I'm a threat," Isabel laughed hard and put her guitar down, standing up to walk to the windows overlooking the city of Boston. She needed to move. "I'm not a fucking _threat-_ er-" she paused, realizing she swore in front of a priest. "No offence."

Lyon chuckled quietly. "I have heard far worse."

"How do I convince the castle that I don't plan on - even if I _live_ through this mess - trying to get Dracula to ditch it? I don't… I don't know what I want, Lyon. I wanted to protect my friends, and I failed. I wanted to escape, and I failed. So right now, I just don't want to die," she laughed, hopelessly, leaning her forehead on the glass, cool from the chill outside. "I'll probably fail at that, too. The castle has made it very clear that's what it plans on seeing happen."

"It said as much?" his voice was closer to hers than the before - she assumed without looking that he had approached her.

"It also made sure to point out that when it made sure I died, my soul will be completely destroyed." Isabel felt herself go pale at the thought, and she gripped the window sill with both hands. Oblivion was terrifying, even if once you're there, you have no knowledge of it. Fear of death was one thing, when you knew there was some kind of afterlife ahead of you. Fear of _nothingness_ triggered something much deeper inside the human psyche.

His hand fell on her shoulder - and she was glad for the sleeves. The last thing she needed right now was to get tossed through the ancient vampire's mind. She turned to look at him, and saw his gentle expression. Mournful, but kind. "You are ever besieged, it seems."

"Tell me about it. I-" she was cut off as the ground beneath her _lurched._ Like everything just took a fifteen foot step to the right. Lyon seemed to have felt the same, and he shifted to plant his feet, grabbing hold of her shoulders with both hands to steady her before she toppled over.

She'd think it was an earthquake, if she didn't know any better. Grabbing hold of a table and the window sill, panic sent her eyes wide. The castle crumbled when it's master fell. "Vlad-"

"Is alive," the priest interjected before she could finish her thought. "I would have sensed otherwise, which means only one other thing."

The castle lurched again, harder than before. Lyon had to worry for himself, and without his assistance this time it sent her to the ground, and she landed with an 'unf.'

Slowly, the 'earthquake' receded to a low rumble, and then silence. Lyon offered her a hand up. As she was wearing her gloves, she took his hand and let him easily lift her to her feet like she weighed nothing. _Super strength must be convenient,_ she griped to herself, a little jealous.

"It appears he has made good on his bargain," Lyon said with a gesture towards the window.

Turning to look, she blinked. No longer was it the city of Boston, twisted and corrupted by the influence of the castle. Instead of the blackened spires against the lights beyond - the twisted shapes of the ancient structure looked like ragged claws against a white and crystalline backdrop.

A frozen forest.

As far as the eye could see.

Mountains, pointed and sharp against the abyss of the night sky were in the far horizon. But not a single light of a city or a village dotted the landscape.

Isabel shut her eyes, and smiled. Thanking Vlad silently for keeping his end of the deal. Somehow it was a relief - even if she had no idea what was _left_ of the poor city of Boston. At least she saved future lives, if she couldn't do anything about the ones already splattered all over the pavement by Dracula's hordes. One life in exchange for many was a deal that was hard not to accept.

"You are welcome," came from behind her. A familiar voice, if unusually strained.

Isabel jumped almost a foot in the air and whirled around, seeing the vampire king, leaning heavily on a chair. He looked… not well. "No fireworks this time?" she quipped, sarcastic, but couldn't help but be concerned. Not announcing his appearance wasn't like him.

She didn't miss Lyon's pleased and quiet smile as she walked past him to approach Vlad, who lowered his head, his long black hair masking his face from view as he gripped the back of the chair with both hands.

 _I would ask you to relocate a building by force of will alone and see how it wears upon you,_ Vlad spoke silently into her mind. Isabel winced at his cruel tone, but tried to shrug it off, seeing his face drawn tight in agony. She put her hand on his arm, trying to console him as best she could. This was her doing, more or less.

"Shall I leave you?" Lyon asked quietly from near the window.

"No," Vlad said as he straightened up and pulled a sharp breath through his nose, steeling himself. He did his best to compose himself, and if she didn't know him as well as she had come to, she would not have known he was in pain. "I must rest. And I do not know for how long. I am leaving you in charge until I awaken." Lyon bowed deep in response.

Isabel looked up at him, and knew he didn't mean 'I need a 24 hour nap.' He meant… days. Or weeks. Or most likely, 'I have no idea.' "Is it usually this bad…? If I had known, I wouldn't have-" she asked.

"Yes, you would," he interrupted her impatiently, and she saw his hands tighten on the back of the chair. "In such instances as I have required to perform this act in the past, I would have taken more time to prepare." He sighed. "But I am a man of my word."

"What shall I provision for Isabel, my lord?" Lyon asked quietly, knowing it would likely be a sensitive subject.

Dracula looked down at her, and she felt very… small, all of a sudden. It was fascinating to see him change his demeanor towards her so easily. One moment, kind - the next, the king that so many feared. The cold look on his face made her take a step back from him, pulling her hand from his arm.

"Find somewhere you think she shall be safe. I suppose you may bring her friends to her - they will die to save her, should she be in danger." While she was excited to see Adam and Eric again - god knows how long it had been since she had, somehow she felt like she had just been backhanded. The tone of his voice was strange to her, and she didn't know what to make of it. With that, he vanished in a swirl of black mist, and was gone.

Isabel felt… empty. Her jaw twitched, as she struggled with what had just happened. She felt turned away - rebuked somehow. But what had she done? Shaking her head, she put a gloved hand on the back of her neck.

"He is mercurial," Lyon advised. "And ever shall be so."

Isabel guessed that was his way of saying 'he's an asshole, don't take it personally.' But it was hard not to. And, Isabel realized with a chill - she hadn't told him of what she saw in her dream. Of what the castle threatened to do to her.

"Come. I have somewhere in mind, and I will send for your friends. Regardless of his command, I believe you are in need of companionship - more so than what I am capable of providing for you."

Lyon successfully broke through her train of thought, and she turned to look at him with a sad smile. "You do just fine. Even if your whole 'I'm a statue that talks' thing is a little eerie sometimes," she playfully teased at him.

"So I have oft been told, if not in as many words." He returned her smile, and extended a hand to her. "Let us go."

* * *

It was a strange place that Lyon had brought her to. Where most of the castle seemed to be a buzz with monsters and creatures of every ilk and type - this one was… empty. It was also _very_ high up. It seemed one of the tallest points in the castle, equal to the path that lead to the throne room in the center of the twisting keep.

It took her a long time to realize that the quiet, barely-below-the-surface noise was the ticking of some giant clock that must be on the floor beneath them. _Tock, tock, tock._ The floor reverberated with each mechanical action. _Tock, tock, tock_. Judging by the sound of it, actually, it was probably the entire _structure_ beneath them.

Soaring windows on all sides were vaulted inwards, showcasing the intricate and winding steel that was its framework. Isabel recognized the style was inspired by 'art nouveau' architecture, if the designer had done a lot of cocaine and fell asleep on a collection of Escher artwork.

Lyon had taken her here a few minutes prior, and pledged that she would be safe and that he would return as soon as he could. "I hope you will forgive me for this," he had said mysteriously.

"Why? What's wrong with this place?"

"It is not the what, it is the _who,_ " he replied, begrudgingly, and said no more on the matter. "But you will be safe here."

Isabel was pretty sure she was happier not knowing any more details than that, so she let him leave without pressing for more. Not that she didn't trust the priest - she did. He seemed one of the few, fully genuine people she had met here. But if the castle itself was now out to kill her… who could save her from that? The only creature who could, had gone to his private crypt. And clearly was uninterested in hearing her concerns.

Isabel paced for a while, thinking, before becoming painfully bored. She flopped down onto a burgundy velvet chaise lounge by one of the large windows. Looking out over at the frozen landscape of what she assumed was either Siberia or the wastelands of Northern Canada, she decided that the ice and cold seemed to suit the castle much better than a crowded metropolis.

The contrast of black against white was beautiful, even if the twisted, corrupt nature of the castle was something she may never really get used to. It wasn't like she'd probably ever have to, she reminded herself.

It made her cold, just looking at it. It made her cold, thinking about the inevitability of her own death. She pulled her hood up over her hair, feeling comfort in having one for the first time in what felt like forever.

This place was filled with monsters. Creatures beyond measure. Demons and vampires, werewolves and giant things with no names for them but their own. What chance did she stand against all that? Against Wraith? Against _anyone_ here?

She was just an empath. That's it. Human. No super powers, no super strength, nothing. Just a great read of emotions and memories. Whoop-de-freaking-do. It was easy to forget that, glued to Dracula's side. Now that he was gone, she felt the enormity of it all. And how little she really was.

She felt the tears bite at her eyes, and she let them fall. She was alone, anyway. Isabel let herself cry for the first time since this had all began. For herself, for her friends… she wiped at the tears as they finally stilled, and let herself lay back on the chaise lounge.

The low _tock, tock, tock_ of the clocktower below her made her drowsy, and she laid her head back, and let herself nod off. She wasn't sure how long she spent in that world between awake and asleep, before something woke her up abruptly.

She blinked, and sat up quickly - and listened. What had she heard? Slinging one leg off the lounge, she waited…

And screamed when she heard a high-pitched laugh from directly behind her.

"Holy _fuck!_ " she screamed and shot up to her feet, whirling around so quickly she nearly tripped over the edge of the furniture.

A floating… skeleton… loomed in the air where she had heard the laugh. It was dressed in tattered robes, black and grey, with a hood pulled over the empty, grinning bone features of its face. It was unclear where its body began and ended. Disembodied skeletal hands, floating separate from its body yet still somehow moving the robes it wore - were gripping a large, intricately carved and detailed scythe. It loomed for a moment over her before slinging the blade behind its back, where it seemed to stick.

"Well, well… So _you_ are what all the fuss is about? You humans are always so much… _smaller in person._ " Its voice was harsh, sharp - and came from the skull with no help of any ligaments or flesh.

"You're fucking _kidding me,_ " she said and took a step back from the floating monster. "What the hell are _you_ supposed to be, Death?!"

"In the flesh!" he cackled, and let out a long, exaggeratedly pleased sigh. "I never get sick of that joke."

Isabel had to laugh - but not at his stupid line. She laughed at the absurdity of her stupid situation that just kept going from 'bad' to 'worse.' "Great. So, are you my bodyguard, or my executioner?"

"If I'm lucky, maybe both!"

"Look, buddy, just be straight with me, would you? I'm really sick of playing 'who's trying to kill me today' guess-and-check," she shot back.

"Pah!" the floating skeleton let out a loud, mocking laugh. She wish she could tell if it was grinning, or, y'know, had any expression at all. All that she could sense was that it was _enormously_ pleased with itself. But that seemed to be 'his' general state of being. "You have a wit about you, mortal. I begin to see why the Master dotes on you so."

"Thanks, I think," she replied, unsure of if she really should be _chatting_ with the flying skeleton.

"This is my tower," it pointed out, enjoying that she had no way of knowing that. It gestured grandly with its disembodied, floating skeletal hands. "So you, for the time being, are my _guest._ " He hissed out the last word in a way that made her feel entirely unwelcome. But she tried to take him at his word.

"Oh. … Thanks."

"Thank me not, mortal. If I had my way, I would decorate the walls with your innards. But Master Dracula sees something in you. Something worth keeping on the _inside_ for now." He cackled again.

"At least I _have_ insides, bone bag." It probably wasn't smart to taunt the floating, scythe-wielding spectre, but… fuck him, fuck all of this, and fuck everything that's happened recently. She was as good as dead anyway. "So, are you _really_ 'Death?' Or just some dead guy who learned how to hover and decided to own the look?" She didn't know where she got the nerve.

"I wonder, are you the same weeping little girl I saw here just a moment prior? I think perhaps I was sent to 'babysit' _that_ little miserable child instead. I am so _utterly bored_ of _crying girls._ "

"First, you were spying on me, which makes you a creep." If it was going to insult her, she was going to fire right back. "Second, crying girls? No wonder. I mean, have you looked at yourself recently, Rattles? Oh wait, I'm sorry. You can't. You don't _have eyes._ "

It laughed. _Hard._ It floated towards her, and she held her ground. Although her hands were shaking, and she clenched her fists to hide it. No use running anyway.

A disembodied hand landed on the top of her head over her hood (thankfully,) and rocked her head from side to side like someone would a kid. In some, fucked up way, she guessed it was some kind of… friendly gesture.

As she went to swat its hand away, it pulled back, still looming over her. She knew it was grinning, even if he was, well, just a grinning skull. "Such fire!" He boomed through a laugh. "I think I will enjoy you, for however long you last. Perhaps, once the two little spawnlings I hear approaching have left, I might play you in a game of chess."

"I think there's a proverb about that," she grumbled, unenthused and not sure what to make of this thing.

"Indeed there is!" he cackled. "Enjoy your _time_ in my clocktower, mortal," the floating skeleton disappeared by… melting through the floor. Passing through it like it was a ghost. It happened so fast, she didn't have the chance to mock him over his awful pun.

"Holy _shit why are there so many stairs?!"_ she heard a familiar voice from under the floor. A hatch opened, and swung upwards.

"It's a _tower,_ you idiot," came the reply.

"This tower can install a fucking elevator. Some people can't just namby-pamby teleport around like a pussy."

"For the last time, I don't teleport, I turn into - hey! Isabel!"

Adam was the first up the ladder into the room, catching sight of her. Isabel ran towards him, never happier to see someone before in her life, and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him. He laughed, wrapping his arms around her, hugging her back as tightly as she had done.

Isabel thanked the vampire king silently for the sleeves and the hood, whether he heard her or not. She tried not to cry again, this time out of joy, holding onto her friend. Even if he was a vampire now, it didn't matter. It was Adam.

"What, no love for me?" The 'whump' of a closing hatch in the floor, and she finally peeled herself off of Adam to look over at Eric.

Who looked… normal.

"Whoa," she said, looking at him, as he stood there, beaming, grinning from ear to ear like the cat who ate the canary. He was loving every ounce of her shocked reaction. "What- how? You were a train wreck! With one arm. And oozing black shit."

He turned around, arms out, still grinning, showing off. "Tah-dah! I told you, good as new! Better even. Check this!" He held out his arm, and she watched amazed as his skin seemed to fold back in panels like a sci-fi movie. Like his skin was just part of an elaborate machine. It opened up to reveal the wires, servos, and pistons underneath. With a flick of his wrist, the panels closed back up.

Isabel poked at him - and he felt human. Squishy like a person should be. He snickered, and let her poke and prod at him curiously. "No way. That's insane."

He looked as proud as she had ever seen him before. "I'm about ninety-seven percent machine! I'm fucked if I ever need to go through an airport metal detector, but hey. Priorities."

Isabel hugged him, just as hard as she had to Adam, if not harder. To see him - changed, and yet the same. Eric laughed, picked her up, and spun her once before putting her back on her feet. "Izzy, it is so good to see you." He mussed up her hair over her hood, as he used to do so many times before. "We've been so worried…"

She let herself release the death-grip hug she had on him, and took a step back. Both overjoyed, and broken hearted at the same time. They'd found their place here. She was going to die - one way or another. "I'm so glad to see you two… I didn't know if I'd ever get the chance to again, before it was too late."

"Hey, what's wrong?" Eric put his hands on her shoulders, not letting her turn away from them. "Too late for what, Iz?"

"Come on, sit down - catch us both up." Adam, ever the voice of reason, interjected before she had another breakdown.

"Where do I start?" she asked, walking with them towards the small gathering of furniture by one of the large, vaulted windows. "Dracula's plans for me, that'll kill me - the creature running amok trying to kill me - or that the castle wants to kill me?"

"Well.. it seems a lot has happened," Adam replied, not sure how else to respond. "Since last we talked, you had just emerged from that… torture he subjected you to."

Isabel laughed hard. "Fuck, a lot has happened since then."

"Hopefully a lot of fucking has happened since _-_ _OW!_ " Eric yelped as Adam punched him, hard, in the arm. "Easy on the goods, man! You and your stupid vamp strength-"

"I'll use it to break every one of those pistons you have in your arms," Adam threatened.

"Like to see you try, you prissy little shit-"

It was like the good old times.

"Tell me one of you brought alcohol," Isabel interjected as she slumped down into a chair.

Eric pulled a bag slung over his back off his arm, and put it down on a table with the telltale _thunk_ of liquid-filled glass containers with his best lopsided grin. "Was that ever in question?"


	17. Chapter 17

**Thank you everyone again for the reviews! Happy Turkey Day, and I hope you enjoy reading! :)**

* * *

You could almost mistake this for being normal.

That is, if you ignored the scenery, the conversation topics, and the fact that of the three old friends sitting around laughing - two of them were no longer human. And that the last was on her way quickly down a path with a sharp and irreversible fork in the road between immortality, and death.

Other than that, it was like nothing had changed.

Isabel was lying on the chaise lounge 'upside down,' with her feet up on the raised part where her head should go. Her arm was draped casually off the side, holding on to the neck of a bottle of beer she was resting on the ground. Listening to Adam talk was an old commonplace activity. But now, she couldn't have been any happier to hear him rabble.

Isabel felt real solace for the first time in a long time. The false sense of security provided by Adam and Eric was obvious - there was no mistaking that she was still in as much danger now as she was without them. But like a blanket during a thunderstorm, it was a comfort she couldn't deny.

She had finished recanting what had happened in the last two weeks - and was now listening to their end of it. (Eric had high-fived her when she said she had stabbed Wraith/Tim in the neck with his own knife.) That lead to Eric explaining the finishing touches to his upgrades - showed off more of his hardware and talked about his 'big plans' for futurizing the ancient castle. Then, it started a raging debate between Adam and Eric about whether or not the castle's scientific prowess was 'outdated' or 'advanced.' As far as Isabel could tell, the answer was both.

Adam was now excitedly explaining his most recent research discovery as if they understood half of what he was talking about. That's something the two boys were both guilty of doing - charging forward in a conversation with no awareness that maybe the other two were missing key terminology. But, Isabel was hardly stupid and prided herself on the ability to at least keep up and follow the proverbial bouncing ball.

"So, this place has the scientific proof for a soul - a _soul -_ the existence of a tangible consciousness outside the human body. I ran the numbers myself, and they check out. It's so obvious when you see it, but I can't imagine what it would do to the community at large. I wish I could write it all down and take it to… I don't know, Oxford? Harvard?"

"They'd reject it as a bunch of mumbo-jumbo from a bunch of devil worshiping freaks and lock you in a cage to study you," Eric pointed out dutifully. He was sitting on the floor, his back up against the lounge Isabel was reclining on. None of the three had ever been the 'touchy-feely' type, but of them, Eric was the one that enjoyed close proximity to others. And he had been lonely, he admitted.

"I'd also love to watch you try and explain any of this to a panel." Isabel pushed an invisible pair of glasses up her nose, and did her best Adam impression. "'Well, you see, there's this _demon castle_ run by this… ancient monster… and he can't die. I mean, well, he does die frequently, but that's beside the point-'" She laughed hard as a beer bottle cap bounced off the side of her head, and she grinned over at Adam. "You're just angry because you know I'm right."

"Speaking of demon castles," Adam interjected. "Are you serious - that the _castle_ wants you dead? Like the building. The _building_ itself." His incredulousness on the subject was clear.

"You don't get it, it's sentient," Eric replied. "It's not a thinking thing - it doesn't sit there and talk to itself. It's like… coral. If something attacks part of it, it all reacts. It's instinctual. All raw feeling." He scratched the back of his neck, knowing he was explaining it poorly.

"I'm good with feelings. That's what I _do_ \- and I couldn't talk it out of wanting me dead. There wasn't anything I could do about it." Isabel sighed and took a sip from her bottle before putting it back down on the ground.

The three of them sat in silence for a moment, debating their current situation. A vampire, a cyborg, and her.

"What I don't understand," Adam began. "Is why we're here. I'm not complaining - this is the best moment I've had since we arrived at the castle. But why? We aren't going to do much in the way of stopping anything trying to hurt you. We'll try - we'll try as hard as we can, but we aren't going to stand much of a chance against the castle itself."

Isabel looked out the window at the frozen forest for a long moment. It was a valid question. Why had Dracula bid Lyon to fetch Eric and Adam? "Maybe a consolation prize for me, I don't know. He told Lyon to get you, and said you'd both die to protect me if it came to that."

"But why nobody else to protect you? You said there's that thing, Death, here somewhere - but really, is that enough? Three against whatever-the-hell this 'Wraith' thing is, or who knows what else?" Adam puzzled, trying to work out the rational explanation in his own head. "It doesn't add up."

It hadn't occurred to her until then - but once he pointed it out, it felt obvious. "He didn't say."

Eric turned his head to look up at her. "Hey. So. How's it going between you and the Boss, anyway? I really don't want to pry - but, with everything you've told us that happened. This Wraith guy and what he tried to do to you… Lord Dracula trying to turn you into whatever-it-is he's trying to do. But, you haven't talked about _him_ at all. About what's happened. Y'know, like-" he rambled.

"Eric, you're babbling," she said with a small laugh.

"Yeah yeah. I don't like all the fluffy shit. But, you haven't talked about him much. Like things are - I mean, you're not trying to escape, right? Of what's going on, you haven't said that _he's_ a problem. Do you… uh... I mean, when it comes to Dracula, do you… well," he trailed off, not being able to spit it out.

"Oh, for fucks's sake, Eric. You seriously can ask me how he is in the sack but you can't ask me if I've got feelings for him? You have seriously messed up priorities," Isabel shoved the back of his head hard, and he snickered.

"Yeah. Yeah I do. But yeah, that's my question."

Isabel looked up at the ceiling - at the winding, twisting ironwork that framed the vaulted windows. The sky was jet black, with pinhole stars flickering in the night sky. She thought about it for a moment. These were two guys that were as good as family to her. And without Vlad's presence wrapped around her mind like a thick cloak, she felt like she was clear-headed for the first time in a long time.

So did she love him?

Isabel let her mind wander over the past few weeks. His kindness, his cruelty. He could be so gentle - and so hateful and violent. But she saw him as the whole - not a man cut in two parts. He was impossible, incorrigible - and he would always terrify her. He was a vampire, and always would be. And she didn't want him to be anything other than that.

Vlad claimed to care about her. That it was too late to take her life to spare himself future pain. But why? Why _her?_ "I don't know what he sees in me."

"Izzy," Eric turned to sit sideways, and he dropped a hand on her shoulder. "Don't go doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Doubting yourself," Eric sighed. "You do this all the time."

"I'm not, Eric. I'm serious! I'm surrounded by people with goddamn _super powers._ And mine? I can tell when people miss their cat. Whoop-de-do. I need to be babysat _all the time_ or else somebody off a long list will show up to kill me. He could do better, is all I'm saying."

Eric punched her arm and she grabbed the offending location. "Ow! What the fuck was that for, asshole?!"

"You talk like that again, and I'll punch you harder," Eric waggled a finger in her face. "And you're avoiding the question with the stupid 'I don't know what he sees in me,' bullshit," he said in his best high-squeaky woman voice.

"Fine." Isabel sighed and shoved his hand away from her face, and sat up. She took a swig of her beer. "I love him. I do. And I know it's stupid. It's _deranged._ It's classic Stockholm Syndrome. But, I do."

"This… 'ritual' - whatever it is he's doing to you-" Adam finally spoke up, having watched the whole exchange in silence until now. "Do you want it to succeed?"

Isabel blinked - she hadn't really thought about it. It was so far out of the question, she hadn't thought about what she _wanted_ to happen. It meant being here, forever. It meant being at his side, forever.

Immortality.

Only a violent death would send her to the grave - and bound to Dracula, who knew what would happen? She would watch the world around her change. Everything she had ever known would fade away, and it would be reborn into something she didn't recognize. She thought of Adrian and Lyon - of all the creatures in the castle she had met or seen. Locked outside of time, shackled to a world that didn't exist anymore. Dragging it behind them like a ball and chain. Eric and Adam weren't mortal anymore - but who knows how long they would last before their candles would be snuffed out.

But she wouldn't be alone. Even if Vlad never came to love her, the way she did him - there would be company on the long trek to the ever-stretching horizon. It was a prospect that was terrifying - a prospect that would probably drive some people crazy.

Well, that's why he put her into the fountain, wasn't it? To see if she could survive the burden? It was still a horrible excuse to torture her. But there was a cruel and twisted logic to it.

Isabel shut her eyes, took a long breath, held it, and thought for one more second. "Somebody hand me a coin," she reached out her hand, palm up.

"What for?" Eric blinked, confused.

Adam dug around into his pockets, and finally fished out a nickel, tossing it to her from where he was sitting at a table a foot or two away.

She caught it, and turned it over in her gloved hands. "When I don't know the answer to what I want, I flip for it. Then, when I see the result, I can judge my gut reaction and whether or not I'm disappointed or happy." She rubbed her thumb over the face of the nickel, thoughtfully. "I try to weigh the pros and cons too much. I try to rationalize the 'right' answer and sometimes I can't tell what I really want to have happen. Sometimes it's hard to know what _my_ opinion is, and not someone else's filtering in. So this is how I get around that."

Eric shrugged. This wasn't the dumbest thing he'd seen her do - not by a long shot. "Alright, well, if it comes up heads, you live forever as Dracula's bloodbuddy," Eric quipped. "Tales and you die a human. Assume it's a dignified, painless death, for sake of argument."

"'Kay," she put the nickel on the back of her nail and thumb and forefinger, and flicked the coin up into the air. She caught it, and flipped it onto the back of her gloved hand. Uncovering her hand, she looked down at the nickel and saw the shiny face of Jefferson looking back at her. Heads.

And she felt relieved. At peace with the result.

Looking up at the boys, she showed them the heads up coin, and picking it up, tossed it back to Adam, who caught it in midair easily.

Isabel looked at them both, and flashed a faint smile. At least there was some solace in knowing what she wanted. "I guess that settles it… I'm all in."

* * *

Hours had passed, and they fell into their old routine of playing cards. Today they were playing hearts, which was on of their favorites. The other favorite was Hold 'Em, but that was Tex's favorite, and it felt wrong to play it without him. Eric's suggestion of 'strip poker' was also immediately ruled out.

Typically, Adam won. But Eric would give him a damn good run for his money. Isabel wasn't a poor player - but just wasn't nearly as aggressively competitive as the other two.

It was about halfway through the third game of hearts, and the fourth set of drinks, that the trouble started.

From the floor below them, muffled through the thick flooring, came the loud and cackling laughter of the creature she had met - the one who called himself 'Death.' There was no mistaking that voice. Silence for a moment, then the sounds of crashing - metal on metal, heavy impacts of objects on walls and beams that made their floor vibrate with the force of it. Either he was doing very violent renovation of the space, or something was wrong.

"Shit," Eric summed up nicely. He stood up from the floor and began cautiously approaching the hatch in the floor.

"What do you think is going on?" Isabel asked - knowing full well nobody had the answer.

"It's a fight, but with whom is the question?" Adam responded. Now, all three were standing around the hatch, looking down at it, hearing the sounds of the fight continue. The high-pitched grating noise of metal on metal reverberated through the building, and it made them all recoil in pain.

"Could be Adrian," Isabel prompted, hopefully.

"Or 'Wraith,'" Eric retorted, using air quotes around the monster's name.

"Well, if we wait for them to kill - uh - 'Death,'" he paused, realizing how stupid that sounded out of context, before pressing forward. "We won't stand a chance on our own. If we help him, we stand a better chance."

Isabel reached for the ring of the hatch, only to have Eric grab her gloved wrist. "Whoa whoa whoa, what're you doing?" Eric said as he interrupted her opening the hatch.

"I'm going down there. Either it's someone I can reason with, or it's somebody I can distract. I'm not going to sit up here like some goddamn damsel in distress. I refuse." She left absolutely _no_ room to argue the point. Eric pulled his hand off her wrist with a sigh, and realized, correctly, that it would be pointless to try and convince her of anything else.

She pulled the hatch open with a creak, and pulled up short as Adam cut in front of her. "I'm not letting you down there first," he explained as he took hold of the hatch ladder and slid down it, pressing his hands and feet against the outside supports to slow his fall as he rode it down to the landing about twenty feet below them. Eric followed suit a second or two after Adam had cleared out of the way.

That having been a trick she had never mastered, and this not being a time to test it out, Isabel decided to go down the ladder the old fashioned way. This got her to the landing a good thirty seconds after the two boys.

She hadn't seen this room before - she hadn't climbed the tower like her friends had. So this was her first time seeing the maddening array of giant clock gears and sprockets , rack and pinions, springs and couplings - some the size of her first apartment - that made the giant clock function.

The clock face itself dominated one wall - and holy hell, it must have been eighty feet in diameter. The moon outside provided a glow to the clock that cast dramatic shadows against the machinery. It was a massive construction, and darkness stretched on below the platform well out of sight. Dim amber light from strange, steampunkish filament bulbs dotted the walls and large steel i-beams.

A fight was going on, that was for sure. Several of the gears and sprockets had large trenches cut out of the thick steel by something harder than it - and far sharper. The stage on which the fight was unfolding was a confusing array of rotating giant clock parts. Each notching forward methodically with the _tock, tock, tock_ of the immense mechanism.

Death was floating over one such gear - hovering above the rotating element and completely unaffected by its march ever onward. His scythe was in his hands - and he was surrounded by several smaller, floating blades - that shot forward from him and towards a figure on another gear - a figure she recognized.

She had hoped it would be Adrian.

She could deal with it being Adrian.

Nope. Option 'B.'

Wraith.

Her stomach sunk at the sight of the redheaded vampire whose body the creature now inhabited. Judging by the speed in which he dodged the blades whizzing through the air at him - he was more than holding his own. Fear tugged at her, and she felt the urge to clamber back up the ladder and slam the hatch shut. _Vlad! Help!_ She cried silently, hoping the vampire king could hear her.

"Oh, hey baby," Wraith said in a 'greeting,' looking up at the three of them standing a few platform levels above them. He stood up from a crouched position, and brushed some dust from his tight black pants. He grinned up at her through the stolen face of the vampire - fiendish features that seemed to suit him far better than Tim's ever did. He held a long dagger that was clearly designed to create pain in each hand, and he deftly flipped one of them in between his fingers like a pen trick, darting it back and forth and around each digit in turn. "There you are! I've been looking for you _everywhere._ "

Isabel tried to ignore him - tried to ignore the instinctual fear at seeing him. She turned her attention to Death - who hadn't turned to look up at the three of him. Isabel could sense he was… worried. He was also injured - not that she could tell by _looking_ at him, mind you - but she could feel it. He was losing.

"This is bad… very bad..." she muttered to her two friends.

Adam took a running jump and leapt from the platform they were standing on - landing onto a gear thirty feet below them like nothing had happened. He pulled a gun out of a holster that she hadn't known he had been wearing under his coat.

Eric, meanwhile, was not wearing a coat to hide any weapons, but seemed no less prepared. Two compartments opened up in his legs - sliding outwards like some kind of hidden drawer or… whatever. Each contained some bizarre-looking, science fiction-esque gun. She wasn't surprised. It looked exactly like something he would have designed into the spec's of his new getup. He pulled the guns from the compartments and they closed back up seamlessly into his clothing with a hiss-click noise.

He too, jumped from the platform - but this time to a smaller ledge on the left, and began walking around where Wraith was standing. Eric was trying to flank the vampire, who was still skillfully toying with his blades, grinning as though he had already won.

Wraith's shadow suddenly caught her attention - it was stretching out in front of him - and to both sides of him - and behind him. He had four shadows - and there was not nearly that amount of light to warrant that. In fact, they seemed to be a darker black than even the unlit abyss beneath them. As she watched him flip the blade between his fingers - she noticed the shadows weren't following suit. They were moving - but not in sync with their owner. And not doing the same thing, like they had lives and minds of their own.

"Watch out for the shadows," she called to her friends below them. "He controls them!" She started towards a set of stairs that started a series of criss-crossing landings and catwalks. It was impossible to tell what path lead to where. The path that wound down the building was designed by a madman. She took off her gloves and shoved them into her pockets. Isabel knew that she would very likely have to use her only defense mechanism in a fight. And she'd need her hands bare for that to work.

"Ruin all my fun, why don't you," Wraith said with a fake dramatic sigh. "Half the joy is in them not knowing! Oh well… Sorry I'll have to kill them in front of you, sweetness."

"You talk more than _I do,_ you abomination. Now be quiet, and fight!" Death snarled.

The fight that ensued was almost too fast to watch. It seemed like Wraith should be horribly outmatched - but Adam and Eric were still learning their newfound strengths and weaknesses.

Death swooped towards him, swinging his scythe through the air. But Wraith just vanished - dropping into the shadows at his feet like the platform he was standing on opened up like a trap door. The scythe passed through the empty space harmlessly.

Isabel pulled up short, almost toppling over herself on the catwalk as Wraith appeared in front of her - rising out of her _own_ shadow like a nightmare. "No kiss for your favorite creation?" he said, his grin never faltering as he reached out and snatched her wrists and dragged her towards him.

Pushing feelings onto another person was something she _hated_ doing. For her, it was draining and often left her with a headache the size of a horse. The last time she had used it was on the soldier she found trapped in the vehicle on the streets of Boston - but that seemed like years ago now. It was an 'in case of emergencies' use only. And this counted as an emergency.

She focused all her energy on fear - on the horror she felt when he had attacked her in the crypt. She pushed it onto him like a wave, and she saw his eyes go wide as it crashed over him. He released her wrists and staggered backwards, struggling for breath in his panic.

"What-" he gasped, then let out a growl as his eyes narrowed in rage. "That's _cheating!_ "

A bullet ripped through his shoulder, and he gripped it with a hiss of pain. The bullet had belonged to Adam, who squeezed off a second and a third round. Wraith had already disappeared into the shadow at his feet by the time the third bullet arrived. He reappeared on a platform fifty feet away from her and up a level and seemed unphased by the two bullets he had taken. Wraith replied in kind, and whipped two daggers through the air at Adam. One of them found pay-dirt, digging deep into Adam's leg.

Adam fell to one knee, and quickly grabbed the hilt of the dagger, and yanked it out of his leg. She knew he could heal like the other vampires could - but the question was, how quickly? How many times?

Adam dodged the next three daggers that stuck into the thick steel of the gear he was standing on - and ducked behind an i-beam that supported the escapement that kept that part of the clock moving forward in its unending march.

It seemed Wraith could summon daggers, as he was flicking them through the air at his intended targets, only to have another in his hand a moment later. Between that, and his weird 'shadow magic' - it was hard to tell what gifts came with the vampire, and what was innate to Wraith. Either way - the monster was faster, and better, than her two friends.

Isabel kept working her way down the weird Escher-esque landings and stairs. She jumped over the railing on one to land on a path below her - still trying to make it down to where Eric and Adam were fighting.

She lost track of the fight for a time while she was navigating her way around - and she saw Adam toss his gun aside in frustration. He was out of bullets. With no other option, he decided to go hand-to-hand with Wraith.

The issue was that the monster was made of thousands of souls - if not more. Wraith knew how to fight, and it was clear that he knew how to utilize everything the body of the vampire could provide - and more.

Adam landed a good punch to Wraith's side. Wraith retreated for a moment, disappearing into his shadow to reappear out of another cast by a steel support.

"Look out!" she cried, seeing what was happening from above better than Adam could. Wraith's shadow was stretching out in front of him - like something out of a horror movie. Like something out of Nightmare on Elm Street. The shadow reached out towards Adam - and her warning came too late.

He let out a hurk in his throat, as the shadow had grabbed his own by the throat. The shadow of Wraith tugged at Adam's shadow, and Adam lurched forward with it. As though it were his own throat the shadow had grasped.

Now, Adam was standing on top of the inky blackness. He tried to pull back - tried to escape it. But he was unable to move. Wraith's shadow had hold of him like it was made of tar. No matter how hard he yanked and pulled, he couldn't pull his feet from the abyssal surface.

Wraith laughed, and with a gesture - Adam screamed as the world dropped out from under him. He was gone - swallowed whole by the inky darkness of the shadow.

"No!" Isabel cried, and began climbing down the stairs to another platform. She wasn't sure what she could do to help - but fuck all if she was going to watch her friends get eaten by Wraith.

"Stay out of this, fool!" Death warned, but was too busy with Wraith to stop her. He was defending himself with skill, but Wraith was landing more blows than he was receiving. Eric's bullets were missing the mark - Wraith was dodging both attacks like a blur of motion, if not teleporting through his shadows altogether. No matter how fast Death and Eric attacked - Wraith was gone before either could land a blow.

Maybe if she could reach Wraith - she could stop him. Render him powerless for long enough.

More of Death's smaller, whirling scythes appeared around him, and shot at Wraith like a volley of missiles. Dodging them one by one, he snatched the last one out of midair as it passed him. He darted and jumped, leaping from platform to platform with ease. With a slice of a blade so fast it seemed to cut the air itself, Death let out a loud, horrible wail.

The spectre evaporated - dissolving into dust and nothingness. All that was left was the large and intricate scythe - which clattered loudly to the surface of a gear below him, rattling as it came to a standstill.

"Eric, run," she cried. "Just go. Go!"

"I can't leave you with him!" her friend responded, voice dire.

"You can't stop him! Go!" she pleaded.

The warning was too late. Eric had missed his chance. Wraith was now behind him, and with both hands, he shoved Eric forward. Eric screamed, staggered, and fell into the abyss of Wraith's shadow like it was a cliff into the darkness beyond. His scream was cut short the moment he was out of sight. And with that, he was gone.

Isabel realized, as she reached a catwalk that stretched over the full width of the clock tower - that now… they were alone. _Help!_ She cried silently to Vlad. _Please-_ she begged. But who knows if he could actually even hear her. Who knows how deep he had injured himself when moving the castle.

Wraith jumped from the platform he was on, landing gracefully in the center of the catwalk, thirty feet from her. He put his knives into his belt, and with one hand on each railing - which was more for show than actual need - slowly began stalking towards her, smiling. He slid his hands along the railing, and tapped his fingertips on them as he walked. "It's _so_ good to see you," he said with a slight tilt to his head. "I know you don't believe me."

"Let them go. I don't care what you do to me, let them go-" she begged.

"Oh? Really? You don't care? So I said, 'bend over that railing and let me fuck you up the ass, and I'll let them go,' you'd say yes?" The fiendish, cruel grin returned to his face. "Because I'd take that deal, baby girl."

"You can't be serious…" Isabel was walking backwards along the catwalk - glancing behind her quickly every few moments to make sure she wasn't backing into a trap. _Help, please!_ She silently cried again in desperation.

"I am _perfectly_ serious - you made me, so you're _mine_. I'm gunna have you - one way or another. As annoying as this fight was, I'm glad you gave me bargaining chips with your two idiot friends. That was a _really_ bad idea, y'know. But hey, maybe now it'll be a little less rape-y with them on the line! Maybe you won't _stab me in the goddamn throat,_ " he snarled the last few words over clenched teeth. A split second later his mood shifted again, and he smiled brightly at her, and shrugged as though it were the littlest thing in the world. That stabbing him in the throat was a borrowed pencil in math class, nothing more. "I mean, not that I blame you. I absolutely had it coming to me. Actually, I'm kind of impressed!"

How the hell do you argue with that kind of crazy?! "If you're going to kill me, just do it already. Then I won't care what you do to my corpse. I know you're sick enough for that not to matter anyway." Isabel was running short on options. She could run - but he would catch her in moments. Throw herself from the walkway and, what - die when she hit the bottom, which was who-knows-how-long beneath her? Falling was probably the only thing she was really afraid of. So that was out. Trying to summon Vlad wasn't working. So for now… stall tactics.

"Kill you?!" Wraith said, shocked. He was legitimately surprised, she could feel it from him. It wasn't an act. "Wait wait wait- when did I say I was going to _kill you?!_ How'd you get that idea?"

"You said you were going to stab me," she reminded him.

"I said I was going to stab you if you struggled! Very different!" he insisted, finger raised towards her, making a very clear point. His boots making a hollow and metallic clunk with each careful, measured step as he continued to stalk her across the catwalk. "I've threatened to fuck you 'til you can't walk straight, but when did I ever say I was going to _murder_ you?"

"I assumed-"

"Hah!" he interrupted. "There you have it! And you know what you do when you _assume?_ " Wraith grinned, then made a tsking noise with his tongue. "Oh, sweetness… Killing you is the last thing on my mind. I'm taking you away from here. We're gunna blow this popsicle stand, you and me, and ride off into the sunset."

That was not what she was expecting. "What..?"

He continued as if hadn't heard her. "See, it's gotten a lot harder now, that Vladdy-boy moved the whole goddamn castle to the middle of frozen-bumble-fuck- _nowhere_." He slammed a fist into the metal railing - and it bent under the blow. The sudden impact made her jump. "I can't very well just walk out of here with you now, can I?! Your tits'll freeze off in twenty minutes. But!" he smiled, shrugging it off, the anger gone just as quickly as it had come. "I have an even _better_ plan now. One I think you'll love."

Isabel shook her head 'no,' still retreating backwards. The idea of going anywhere with him made her skin crawl.

"What happened to 'just let them go- I'll do anything!'" he laughed. "All talk, and no action? Doesn't seem like you. You seem like a girl of conviction. So it must be me, then. Am I really that repulsive?" he fake pouted, and sniffed exaggeratedly, and wiped at a fake tear. "I'm hurt."

"Why are you doing this to me?! I never did anything to you. I don't understand." Maybe she could reason with him - but she doubted it.

"Don't you get it? You _made me._ I'm your creation. I am the product of all of those bits and pieces of souls from that fountain, given form inside that pretty little head of yours. I am your _responsibility!_ " He pulled in a slow breath, and paused to give his next words the weight that they deserved. "I am the monster to your Doctor Frankenstein."

Isabel shook her head again, still walking backwards at the pace he was advancing. He didn't seem in any hurry to catch her. But that didn't mean she wanted to let him get anywhere near her. "I didn't mean to. I didn't want to."

"That doesn't matter! The fact is, you _did._ And I'm here now-" he put a hand to his chest over the carefully tailored white shirt. He clearly loved the contrast between black and white. When he had appeared in her dreams, he was dressed similarly. Even if the face was different, everything else was the same. "And it is your duty to care for me. To _love_ me." He was so insistent - so sure of what he was saying. He believed it as pure and utter fact.

"I-" Isabel let out a startled cry as she reached the end of the catwalk and inadvertently stepped backwards off of a set of stairs. Her arms flailed to catch herself. As she teetered backwards, something grabbed her. The downward descent was stopped as she found herself half-laying on the floor at the bottom. Looking up into the face of Wraith, he grinned cheekily down at her, He had caught her, and now was holding her to him, arms wrapped around her. "You didn't have to fake falling into my arms, sweetness."

Isabel shoved at him, trying to push him off her. He held her tight, laughing, as she punched at his chest and struggled harder. "Let me go!" Finally, he acquiesced - and she quickly pulled away and stood up, eager to put distance between them. She had no idea what she could do - how she could stop him. But she knew she didn't want him anywhere near her.

Shrugging, he rose to his feet. "Suit yourself."

"What the hell do you think your end game is?" Isabel saw a door leading out of the open chamber, and began edging her way towards it. "When Dracula gets here-"

"He can't do shit right now, can he?" He clicked his tongue against the roof his mouth once, thinking. "I was sure, soon as I showed my face, he'd appear. But here we are, just you and me… and no sign of him. He's left you all alone with some dumb goon and your two friends, which played directly to my favor, didn't it? So this means one of two things - either he doesn't _want_ to come save you… or he _can't._ "

Isabel turned and made a break for the door - and she heard him let out an exaggerated sigh of frustration. In a blur, she was slammed up against the wall by her shoulders. "Will you quit that?!" he snarled at her, and yelled into her face. "Where do you think you can run that I can't find you?! Dracula _isn't here right now,_ so pay attention to _me,_ will you?!"

Isabel winced at his anger, and tried to push him away from her. But he wouldn't budge. His hands on gripped her shoulders harder. Now she winced from the pain of his fingers biting into the bone. She stopped struggling, and he relaxed his hands just enough to show that if _she_ played nice, he was willing to do the same.

"So which is it, baby girl?" he asked, "Is he bored of you already? Or does he have the flu?"

Isabel refused to respond, and instead glared at him through her fear, and leaned her head back against the wall, trying her best to look dismissive. "Tell me how this ends where Dracula doesn't kill you."

He chuckled, noticing her dodge of the question but letting it slide for now. "I told you." He stepped into her, pressing his body against hers, trapping one of her legs beneath his. He smelled saccharine - cloying like flowers in a funeral home. Too much all at once, and it made her stomach flip over. Now that his hands were no longer required to hold onto her, one slipped to her waist, the other pushed her hoodie off her head, and trailed along her jawline. Isabel turned her head away, but that only made him laugh.

"My plan was to come here, snatch you, and run. That didn't quite go as planned, now did it?" Wraith leaned in close, letting his lips graze the spot on her cheek next to ear. It made her twitch, and she slammed a fist into the wall to keep from struggling. She could feel him grin against her, before speaking. "So, now we're here, trapped in the arctic wilderness - and unable to leave. For now. Until I kill Dracula."

"What?!" she exclaimed. Wraith had to pull his head back to keep from cracking their heads together as she whipped hers to look at him in shock. "I know you're crazy - but you cannot be serious. You don't stand a _chance._ "

"Oooh, sweetness… but I do, don't I… You're going to help me kill him." His cruel grin was unfaltering, even with how absurd his words were.

It was Isabel's turn to laugh. That was the dumbest thing she'd heard in a long time. "And why _the fuck_ would I help you kill him?!"

Wraith sighed, and rolled his eyes, as if he were an annoyed teenager talking to a toddler. "Because he's a madman. Bent on destroying the world. Because you're his prisoner. Because he _tortures you._ Because he's going to kill you - if someone else here doesn't do it first."

"No. Not now, not ever. I will _not_ help you kill Vlad - no matter what you threaten."

"Then you're forgetting I have two very _important bargaining chips_ in my possession. Either you help me kill Dracula… or your friends die."

"I won't make that choice," Isabel struggled against him again, and gave up with a sigh. "You can't make me pick."

"Oh, baby girl, I just did," Wraith responded with a small chuckle. "Me and your friends, versus Vlad. You can only save one. Which is it? Your family, or your lover, who is going to end up killing you anyway?"

"I won't help you. And I won't end up deciding. Dracula _will kill you,"_ she insisted. "He doesn't give a rat's ass if my friends live or die."

"All the more reason for you to help me! And yes - he'll kill this body. And the next one. And probably the one after that. But I'll just keep eating more and more of the souls in this place until there isn't _anything left._ " Wraith seemed enormously pleased with himself. "And that is, in fact, my plan!"

"Explain…?"

"Kill Dracula, and save the girl. Then I kill the castle, and save the world. I'll have the power then to transport us both safely out of here. I march to the horizon as the hero, and I reap the spoils of war…" His head nuzzled into her neck, and she tried to recoil further as he smelled her hair. Lips pressed against her neck, and she felt him shudder. "God, I can smell your blood… I want it _so_ much… But I need you to be able get the jump on Drac when the time is right… He won't expect it coming from you."

"Let them go, please-"

"Not until we're out of here. Not until you help me kill Vlad," his breath was cold against her skin, and she felt him nip her earlobe.

"No, I won't! Stop touching me, you fucking _asshole-_ " she tried to pull her head away from him again.

He laughed low. "How short sighted you are. How am I different than Dracula? I stole the only things you care about, to make you my prisoner. And I will make you my prisoner, to make you _love me._ It worked with him, didn't it? How am I truly any different?!" His voice became quiet as he whispered to her. "I'll tell you the answer. I'm rescuing you. I'm protecting you from Big Bad Vlad who wants to imprison and poison you. I don't want that… I want you to be free. Out in the world - alive and happy. With me, your lover, your servant, your creation, at your side... "

Isabel shoved hard at his chest, but he didn't budge. She might as well have been shoving a brick wall. He chuckled quietly into her ear, before both hands were on her face, forcing her to look at him. His eyes were ungodly sharp and bright - unnaturally blue like two lapis lazuli stones. "You made me. It's your obligation to bring me into the world and teach me how to _live._ "

His lips crashed against hers. She could feel his need, his single-minded desire, searing and dangerous. Selfish and entirely uncaring that she wanted none of it. She let out an 'mffnh!' and shoved uselessly against his chest. Unable to take it anymore, she put her hands against his neck and summoned all her fear, her disgust, her panic - and pushed it onto him.

He recoiled from her with a snarl, and staggered backwards shaking his head, as if to clear cobwebs. "There you go again, cheating! _Stop doing that-"_ he glared at her. "Or I will break all ten of your fingers one by one, _joint by joint!_ You don't need _those_ to escape. And when Dracula gets-"

There was a noise suddenly that Isabel wouldn't really ever know how to describe. It was metallic - it was wet - it was like the sound of a cleaver moving through a watermelon at high speed. Or a gigantic knife whizzing through wet air.

Death was floating behind Wraith, holding his intricate and elaborate scythe aloft. It was dripping in blood.

Wraith's eyes had gone wide - and she watched as his body fell to the floor… in two parts. Cut through from waist to opposite shoulder. She didn't miss the black shadow that whipped across the floor and under the door nearby. Wraith had said it himself - his host was dead. He wasn't.

That was an odd, mixed relief and horror for her. Wraith was alive - that meant that her friends were also. But it meant that he was still a threat.

"You cannot kill me with my own blade, idiot," Death said to the bleeding remains of the vampire - knowing quite well he couldn't hear the words. But, his ego demanded the clarification be said.

Isabel stayed, back up against the wall, agog at the abruptness of what had just happened. One moment, he was taunting her - the next, he was dead. Her mind was still reeling to catch up with the implications of everything that had just happened. Wraith's words. Death's reappearance. "Wait - you were faking it?!"

"Of course," Death scoffed. "Did you honestly believe I fell to such a cretin?"

"He's not going to _stay_ dead, there was no point to killing him! Now he's just loose again - and _he has my friends,_ " she clenched her fists as she tried to wrap her head around what had happened.

"I cannot adequately express the magnitude to which I do not care."

Isabel clenched her jaw, and withheld the urge to scream at him. A thought suddenly occurred to her - rang through her like the tone of a bell. And it was as clear, as cold, as the sound itself. Adam's questioning of why she was left alone with Death and her two friends. Wraith pointing out how stupid of a maneuver it was to leave her so unguarded. Now this. "... Why did you wait so long before attacking?"

"He had said all that I wished to hear," Death replied haughtily. His ego was his mistake, and she saw the crack in the foundation.

Isabel put a hand to her face, and lowered her head. Isabel could feel when people were lying. Even worse, she could feel when people were hiding behind half-truths. Death was hiding something. Clear as day. The ramifications of that were worse than what had just happened to her. Her hand was shaking as she lowered it - anger and shock were starting to form into rage as her mind began to put together what she prayed was not actually happening. "Why else? Why else did you wait?"

"Are you a child? Did you not understand the words that came out of my mouth?"

Isabel pushed herself off of the wall and stormed up to him, stepping around Wraith's 'dead' body as she did. "Don't treat me like an idiot. I'm a lot of things - weak, mortal, helpless - but I am not, nor will I _ever be -_ stupid! Didn't you get the memo? Don't you know what I can do?!" She was past the point of caring about what she said to the hovering skeleton.

If Dracula put her here on purpose - if he left her with Death and her two friends on purpose - to draw Wraith out… Then she was only bait. Her friends were casualties to give her unwanted creation the gaul to play his hand.

The pieces of the puzzle began to click together in her head. None of today had logically fit together - but now, it was starting to form a clear photo. One piece at a time. "So tell me - did Dracula set this all up? Did he tell you to use me as bait and tell you to feed my friends to that fuckhead, or did you decide to do it all on your own?!"

Death, for the first time in her limited interactions with him - was silent.

"It makes too much sense. You faking being dead - to see what he'd do, when left alone with me. What he'd say. What he wants. Why bring Eric and Adam here unless they play some sort of part in this? Leaving me with them is pointless otherwise - they're a liability, paired with me. So why else? What I don't get is _why -_ why do that? To see what I'd do? To see what his plan is?! To draw him out of hiding?!"

Death floated there still, silent, watching her, the tattered edges of his robe blowing in the updraft of the massive clock tower.

"Take me to Vlad," she demanded. "Now."

"I cannot. None can enter his private chamber but the master himself," he finally spoke.

Isabel caught the lie, and she turned away from the floating skeleton in anger. "Bullshit! Utter bullshit. Try again, asswipe."

"I spoke the truth."

"But the reason behind your denial is wrong!" she yelled again, rounding on the floating creature. "He isn't in his crypt, _is he?!"_ If she had anything to throw at him, she would have.

This was all wrong. But why else would Vlad abandon her here, like this? Why did Lyon leave her here? Why bring Adam and Eric? At first, she thought it was for her own sanity. A gift. But maybe not. Maybe this was all to pull Wraith out of the shadows - all to make Wraith spill the beans on his goals.

The worse option was that Vlad was playing some kind of game, the purpose of which she couldn't fathom a guess.

"You are distraught. Go back to the tower, mortal - you will feel better once you've slept. That is what you humans do, is it not?" Death was uncomfortable - unsure how to respond. She had him knocked off his footing, and she was going to keep pushing him until she got what she wanted. Death was not prepared to deal with someone who could see through a lie like glass.

"Fuck you, _you piece of shit halloween decoration!_ " Isabel walked to the body on the ground, and pulled a dagger out of the belt of the former vampire-turned-possessed-host. She tucked the dagger into her own belt. "If you aren't going to give me answers, I'll get them myself."

Storming to the door, she threw it open and heard it slam against the wall with a cathartic _wham._ He did nothing to stop her.

The room she found herself in was beautiful - intricate and baroque style copper patterns inlaid into black marble. The walls were the same black marble, dotted with elaborately carved frames dominating the structure from almost floor to ceiling. Instead of a painting, or a mirror, inside the gilt framing - it was a window into the workings inside of the wall itself. A shadowbox of clicking and whirring gears.

She would have stopped to marvel at the mechanisms and the stunning overhead chandelier. But all she wanted was to put distance between her and what had just happened - to give some time for her to process.

It seemed that wasn't in the cards for her.

As she approached the door that lead from the room, she felt an achingly familiar presence settle on her mind. She knew who had just appeared behind her. She stopped walking, but couldn't bring herself to turn around and face him. Not yet. "Tell me I have it all wrong. Tell me there's another explanation for this. Tell me you weren't watching that happen, and didn't put me through that. Tell me that you just woke up, just heard that something was wrong, and none of this was your doing…"

Silence.

It was as condemning as if he had admitted the truth. Tears sprung to her eyes - in betrayal, in hurt, in helplessness. She let them fall, and whirled to face him. Vlad stood there, in the center of the room - looking somehow a darker black ink blot against the marble walls behind him. His stern expression was unreadable.

"Why…? Use me as bait - I can _almost_ understand that… But handing him my friends gift-wrapped with a bow on top?! Why?!" her voice cracked as she half-screamed the last word at him.

"To see your answer to his request," he responded, his dark voice cold and unflinching.

The subtext to what he said was what finally cut her to the bone - leaving her raw and bleeding as much as if he had physically attacked her. The hurt was so bad, it felt real. 'To see if I can trust you,' is what he meant. To make her decide between her love for her friends or for him. The same as Wraith had done. Pitting her against an impossible choice. Both of them might as well have been in on it together. "Damn you," she whispered, tears falling now unchecked and rolling down her cheeks. "Damn you to hell."

Vlad remained silent - stoic, watching her idly. Almost seeming bored.

"Tell me, Vlad… which do you want? Do you want me to be telling the truth - that I love you? Or would you rather I'm lying? Would you rather I betray you - and make it easy for you to kill me?" She pulled the knife from her belt and held it towards him - not that she had _any_ thought in her mind it would help her. But she wanted the comfort of it. It gave her something to hold on to, as she felt lost in the waves. "Or is it that you're afraid I might live through becoming your companion - and you're disgusted at the idea of being _stuck with me_ for eternity?!"

That finally got a rise from him - he narrowed his eyes in returned anger, but still said nothing. So she kept jamming her finger on that button - wanting to hurt him as he had done to her. "That's it, isn't it? Of all the women you've tried to do this to - now that you're faced with the reality that it might work, you can't take it. Can't take the thought of being stuck with _me._ " The tears in her eyes were blinding her.

"Be quiet." It was an order. A demand. She felt his power ring through her - and it took everything in her to keep herself from obeying. His hold on her had grown - the command felt stronger, more like lighting in a storm striking a grounding rod. So that was the effect of his blood on her - _that_ was what it felt like to be bound to him. It took her a moment to regain her footing - to push his power off of her.

Everyone wanted her to hurt. The castle wanted her dead. Wraith wanted her to be his pet. Vlad had betrayed her, to see if she would betray him. To make it a simple choice to end her life. Looking at the blade in her hand, she suddenly knew what to do. She knew what she wanted right now, more than anything else in the world. "I'll make it easy on you all."

Isabel placed the tip of the knife against the base of her neck, and drove it into her throat.


	18. Chapter 18

**Muahahaha! I mean... I hope you enjoyed the cliffhanger. :)**

 **This chapter is a little shorter, in the interest of not leaving everybody _totally_ on the hook. Thank you again for the awesome reviews. It really does keep me inspired. Enjoy! **

* * *

Polina had spent the last forty years of her life searching for someone who shared her gift.

She had peddled fortunes on the street for pennies. Worked her talent in musty back rooms that smelled of cured meat and undone laundry. Polina had left her home country to search the world. For someone, anyone, who was like her.

And now, as she lay dying in a pool of blood and broken glass - her search was over.

A young girl - fourteen or fifteen, at best - lay in the blood next to her. Tossed aside in the car crash like so much shrapnel - so much trash. She was unconscious on her side. A gash on her forehead left a thin line of blood dripping from her face into the puddle that was Polina's own blood.

It was then, when the girl's lifeblood met her own - that she felt it. Their minds were shared - she saw the girl's emotions and thoughts as if they were her own. This girl was _like her._ This poor creature had likely been dormant until now - but people are made in the moments of their lives defined by sorrow and loss.

Polina's power would die as this young woman's awoke. The horrible irony was not lost on her. She managed to laugh quietly through the pain, her throat both at once caught full with blood, and painfully dry. "Child," Polina urged. "Child, wake up."

Polina demanded it of the poor young thing. Her gift allowed her to do such things - to push emotions and actions onto others.

The young girl blinked her eyes, struggled to focus them. She groaned in pain. Both of them had been thrown from their respective vehicles when they crashed. Polina was sure the two crumpled bodies she saw lying on the pavement - clearly dead - were the girl's parents.

Polina herself knew her life was ending. She could not feel herself below the waist - and thought it best not to look. There was no need to see that she was a mangled body, waiting for the crows. But the girl - battered and bloodied, cut by broken glass, would live.

"Come here," Polina urged. The young girl managed to sit up, and looking around her, her eyes went wide at the carnage. "Do you know what you see?"

"N… No-" the girl said with a whimper. "I don't know how I got here… Where am I?" The girl looked down at her hands, covered in blood - Polina's blood. She squinted, and looked at them confused. "These are not my hands…"

It had begun already, she saw. The girl was inside Polina's mind - seeing out. Expecting to see the hands of an old woman, worn and thin. "You are not I," Polina urged. "What is your name?"

The girl paused for a long time, before she looked over at her - her amber eyes were bright. There was a keen intelligence there that would serve her well. "Isabel. It's… Isabel. I think."

"Keep that with you - no matter what others tell you. No matter how much you see, or hear… No matter what your mind might know. _Remember that much._ Promise me, child. Never forget who you are. They will-" Polina coughed, and could taste blood on her lips. "The minds of others will crowd yours. They will muddy the lines between you. But you will have your name."

Isabel's forehead creased as she struggled to understand her words. But perhaps it was her connection to the aged woman that gave her the wisdom to see it. Her face smoothed, and she reached out for Polina's hand.

The old woman smiled, and squeezed her hand in return. She would be happy not to die alone. Oh, how she wished she could spend days in her kitchen, caring for the rosebud of a woman she saw in front of her. Cooking her paska and teaching her how to control her gift. To become what she was meant to be.

But that was not in the cards for her. No. She would die here, and leave this poor child to wander the earth alone as she had as a child. But Polina would die happy - content with her part in this world.

No one should die alone.

* * *

"Will you not just stand there, and _assist me?!"_

Lyon stood, shocked at what he saw. Few things in this world caused the ancient priest to pull up short, and leave him wavering and unsure.

The room reeked of blood. Even to a mortal, the smell would be pungent. To him, it was overwhelming. He felt the instinctual hunger rise - and to a fledgling, it would drive them mad. He had long since learned to master such impulses.

Isabel was lying in Dracula's lap - her head in the crook of his arm. She was covered in blood. As was he. It looked as though someone had slit her throat - no - punctured it, perhaps.

The woman's eyes were open, glassy and unseeing. "What have you done?" Lyon asked, his heart heavy.

"She yet lives, but will not for much longer, if you _simply stand there like a fool!_ " Vlad howled - his fangs extended in his rage.

It was then, that Lyon saw the blood red tears that ran down his Master's face to land in small droplets on the cheek of the woman in his arms.

* * *

"You don't remember anything? Really, nothing at all?"

Isabel laughed and raised the beer to her lips. Eighteen or not, it didn't matter. Beer was easy to find.

They had all driven out into the woods in their beater cars on a warm Friday night in May. Each one of them was in some trashy vehicle that had been given to them by somebody's great aunt or grandmother who shouldn't be driving anymore.

Goth kids, the lot of them. Isabel always felt 'too old for this shit,' and always felt like she was the adult caught in a bad sitcom flashback to high school years. But she figured that was likely due to all the memories she had bumbling around in her head that weren't hers.

"I remember walking into the hospital and telling them my first name. Nothing before that. Not anything at all," she said with a shrug. The police had record of who her 'real parents were' - but they had both died in the crash. Isabel had never bothered hunting down the remainder of any sort of blood relatives. They hadn't come to find her - so she figured she wasn't a wanted burden on their lives.

And her foster mother was about as laid back as you could get. She was alright with how her life was right now.

"Fucked up, man," said one of her friends from the back of his great uncle's old 1991 Toyota Corolla.

"I think it's cool," James said from next to her. They were sitting on the back of his car. He was leaning back on his elbows and kicking his leg idly. They were 'together.' Well, as together as two people could be without any physical contact. "It's like a superhero origin story."

"I'm the world's shittiest superhero then," Isabel said through a snicker. She donned her best 'fake announcer voice' and planted both fists on her hips in her best Captain America pose. "Fear me, I am Feelings Girl! I can sense bad moods from a mile away, and if I touch your spoon, I can tell you what you had for dinner last night!"

The pack of them laughed.

It was the last time they had together before James had kissed her - and he never woke up again.

* * *

Golden claw met sword in a sharp clash of metal on metal. It was not the first time, nor would it be the last, that Lyon and Vlad had reason to come to blows.

"You are _mad!"_ Lyon exclaimed, shoving the other vampire backwards. Lyon had the height advantage - but Vlad was stronger. "She lies a breath away from death, and you seek to stain your hands with the blood of a thousand more? You would tear down our world to send her to the grave ferried by the damned!"

"So be it!" Vlad snarled, his eyes red from lid to lid, rage pouring from him in such a way it was a palpable thickness to the air around them.

Few times, Lyon had seen his Lord in such a state. Few times, had he seen him react in such a way. Never, had he seen him plot to do such a thing as he did now. Never had Vlad threatened such things as he did this night. "I will not let you do this," Lyon insisted, silently pleading with his Master to change his mind. But he knew it would not be.

"Stand aside, _old friend-_ " the sarcasm was thick in the elder vampire's voice. "Before I send you to greet the gods before her!"

* * *

Isabel hated boats. _Hated_ boats. She wasn't ever sure where it came from originally. Maybe from someone else's memories, somewhere.

But the seasickness didn't help.

Her stomach had quieted for the moment, as she leaned on the railing of the deck of the small paramilitary 'yacht' that had brought them to the little island off the coast of Ireland for their job. It was an easy, in-and-out gig from some church ruins. Some rich asshole had thought they'd found the secret to the holy grail. In all honesty, he had watched 'Da Vinci Code' one too many times and they had all unsurprisingly come up empty-handed.

But whatever, rich assholes paid well.

Tex was standing next to her - and had even offered to 'hold her hair back' - well, he would, if he could touch her. But he was good, uncomplaining company as she had tried not to yack up her lunch too badly.

"Hey Izzy-" Tex started, thoughtfully, leaning his elbow on the railing, head on his hand. "What's your retirement plan?"

Isabel laughed and looked over at him. "I don't have one. I figured I'd keep doing this until one of you idiots lets go of the belaying line and I fall to my death."

"Yeah yeah," Tex grumbled. "I only let go that one time, and it was like fifteen feet."

"Fifteen feet, over a _two hundred foot drop,_ " she dutifully reminded him.

"Yeah, yeah! I get it," Tex grinned. "I'm not allowed to lower you anymore. Sheesh. Way to hold a grudge." The southerner was happy for the brief shift in moods, but she could sense a cloud hanging over him.

"What's wrong, Tex?" Isabel shifted closer to him, letting her arm touch his. They were both wearing long sleeves in the chilly weather - so he was in no danger.

Tex looked down at the black waves, and sighed. Her gift was both a blessing and a curse to her friends. "I don't want to do this until I die. The more I do this, the more I see that happening."

"Oh, bull," Isabel leaned into him, pushing him playfully with her shoulder. He smirked. "You'll outlive us all."

"Hey. Let's make a bet. If I die first, you owe me ten grand. If you die first, I owe _you_ ten grand." Tex grinned out at the waves. It was a morbid bet - one meant to make light of his worry.

"What a shitty bet. How're we supposed to pay up, if the other one croaks?"

"Peh, that's not the point. I don't know, a sweet-ass headstone or something. I want one of me, like, carved. Flexing. And I want it to say in latin on the base something like… 'He had a gigantic dick.'"

Isabel mimed as if she were writing something down on her palm. "Giant statue, carved with, 'he was a giant dick' in latin. Got it."

Tex shoved her, nearly knocking her over - making her squeak and laugh, catching herself on the railing without any trouble. It had officially ended his bad mood. Isabel was glad for that, at least. The last thing she wanted to think about was life without her friends. Her family.

* * *

Adrian had grown up in this place. It was truly the only home he had ever known. Even with its strange and maddening corridors, archways into nothingness and crisscrossing pathways designed as if to drive a man insane - it brought some semblance of dark comfort to him.

Since his conversation with Isabel, the architecture of the castle had indeed become more amenable in its construction. Adrian felt pity for the young woman. His father had clearly become infatuated with her, to strike such a bargain such as he had. Moving the castle and pausing his crusade to end mankind was a large ask. To grant it, meant she held some meaning to him.

Dracula would destroy her, one way or another. Dracula destroyed those around him - it had always been so. At least she seemed to understand the consequences of her actions. Adrian took some solace in that she was not some doe-eyed child, seeking to do the impossible. Seeking to somehow _save_ the vampire king from himself.

Adrian himself had little hope that his father was truthful to his word, that he would suspend his desire to see mankind stricken from the face of the earth. Such things had once been possible, but now seemed a far-fetched dream. For over twenty years of his young life, Adrian shared a 'happy' relationship with his father and mother. Fleeting in the context of their long lives - but any spark of light in the darkness was worth cultivating.

The creatures of the castle now took little interest in him. They avoided him at all costs - ducking into the shadows and crevices of the winding hallways and grandiose chambers at first sight of him. The more humanoid, sentient creatures ignored him, or found reasons not to be seen at all.

Not usually prone to bouts of nostalgia, he allowed himself a brief visit to the library that he had spent so much of his childhood. He sought out Lyon, the priest - who had been his tutor and friend. Now, with an unsteady truce between he and his father - the two vampires were allowed to converse without coming to blows.

All such things being equal, Adrian hoped this young mortal woman would succeed in her goal of tempering the vampire king's wrath for as much time as she was able. But the thought of her succeeding where all others had failed brought much dread to his uneasy mind. Dracula had long since sought to bind another to himself with the ritual once made for him by a witch of ancient times. 'The mother and originator of all magic, dark or otherwise' he had heard his father describe her once as such. 'The first of her kind, as I am,' the story was told.

But it was no gift, it seemed. It had proven to be a curse, instead. No mortal had withstood the poison that was Vlad's undiluted blood. And now, he sought to doom another to such a fate - not for love, but out of his selfish need to fill the emptiness in his soul.

And yet, Adrian was prepared to allow this thing to come to pass. Adrian was sworn to stopping his father from destroying the lives of many. Isabel was prepared to be a willing sacrifice to see this come to pass - a sentiment he knew all too well.

Adrian was, and always had been, jealous of his father. Not for his power, not for his wealth and the castle. No. Jealous of his ability to _live._ Angry that the vampire king could still find joy in the world. That he could shirk all that he was to walk amongst the mortals for a time. When he had taken up home in England during the nineteenth century and drew the ire of a new clan of vampire hunters - Adrian had watched from afar. The 'Van Helsing' clan seemed to need little help with the vampire lord, in his weakened state. Removed from the castle and therefore much of his power, Dracula fell.

But not before Adrian watched as he charmed a young girl, and took solace in her warmth, her life.

And there was the source of Adrian's jealousy. Dracula could seek to exist free of his chains - at least for a time. This was a simple joy denied to Adrian at every turn - due to the actions of his father. Adrian was bound to this endless cycle, bound to his duty to stop Dracula from destroying all the world.

For all those reasons, Adrian wished success to the young empath. For hope that it would delay his father's wrath upon the world. For hope that it would allow he, himself, some freedom from the chains of this endless toil.

He passed through another gateway in his trek across the castle to seek out an old friend in the gardens - and instead found himself in a chamber he did not recognize. There was nowhere in this place that he did not know - nowhere he had never set foot. Or at least, he believed such things until this moment.

Adrian found himself standing in a large antechamber. Free of the intricate baroque and rococo embellishments, this room felt… older. Ancient. He had never seen a place like this. Dim light streamed in from high above - although from what source, he could not tell. It cast faint shadows along the stone surface of the walls and floor. Not polished marble - instead hewn from giant, ancient blocks of sandstone. It felt impossibly old. Where had he found himself now?

A wooden door stood in front of him - soaring several stories above him. It was open, swung inwards from the split in the middle. He was not here alone. Adrian's hand rested on the hilt of his blade, as he caught sight of a figure he had not seen in many, many years.

Adrian walked through the doors, his boots barely making a noise on the stone floor. He had no reason to disguise his presence. The creature in front him would have known he was there, the moment he entered.

This second room was massive - walls stretching upwards to form a dome overhead. An intricately painted mural that covered the entirety of the dome. It was a mural of the castle itself - figures locked in poses of battle, of death, or of triumph. In the center of the room was a circular array of columns. They stood guard over a pool of deep, black liquid. It's surface reflected tones of red and crimson in the flickering torchlight. It was a pool of blood.

Adrian would have spent time to marvel and wonder at his surroundings, but for the figure in the black coat. "Hello, father."

"What mean you, to bring him here…?" he heard Vlad say - his voice quiet. Those were not words meant for him. "To end my life, before I end yours?"

Vlad turned to face him finally, an Adrian's hand gripped the hilt of his blade tighter. The look on his father's face was one of… sorrow. Of anguish. Of hate. "If you seek to kill me, my son… do so. I will not stop you."

Adrian made not a movement in response - holding perfectly still as he pondered over his words. "What of the empath you keep your prisoner? If I were to strike you dead, care you not what will become of her?"

"She is dying," Vlad responded and looked back to the pool of blood at his feet. "Come the moon rise in but a few hours, she will be as the wind."

Adrian's brow furrowed in confusion. Vlad had never been one for games of deceit. He was certain his father spoke the truth. "How has this come to pass?"

"As all knew it would," Vlad said, his voice taking on an edge of anger. Adrian watched his hands ball into fists for a brief moment. "By my own vanity and inscrutable desire to see _hope itself_ dashed to pieces upon the sands of time."

"Father…" Adrian began, taking a step towards him. Wary of the elder vampire. "What have you done..?"

Vlad looked down at his own palms - and Adrian saw for the first time the blood that stained them upon the edges. "I have destroyed the love that was given to me for the _first time_ with utter transparency unto my being. With acceptance for what I am, without doubt - a _monster._ "

"But _why?_ " Adrian insisted. Only once before had he seen his father caught in such grief. The thought that he would pitch himself headlong into such suffering was beyond the madness of even the vampire king.

That brought a laugh out of Vlad - a cynical, spiteful sound. "Oh, but for a prophecy that I alone seek to be cut in cloth and shrouded upon my empty existence! That I am, and ever shall be, this _contemptible_ beast you see before you. To look upon my soul and see that which is worthy of love is to be a liar and a traitor, is it not? Convinced of the simple truth of such, I sought to force her hand - to reveal her duplicitous betrayal. But one cannot play the cards that _one does not hold._ "

Vlad clenched his fists again, this time digging his pointed tails into his own flesh. Adrian smelled his blood upon the air. "I forced her to chose between her friends, and I. To finally reveal her words as falsehoods that I could not decipher otherwise. But rather would she see my revulsion of my own being, as instead a failure on her behalf," Vlad said with a cruel laugh again, pointed at himself. "Rather she take her own life than betray her love. For her friends - or for I, unworthy recipient of such a gift."

Adrian released his hand from the hilt of his sword, and felt pity for the creature before him. His father had spoken more to him in words and intent in this brief moment than he had in centuries. Dracula had driven the poor girl to suicide - as he could not accept her love through his own malignant view of himself. "Why are you here, and not at her side?"

"I come here to destroy this place. Once and for all. We stand at the heart of the castle itself. It is fitting that you be here for this - perhaps you wish to aid me in my venture to end this castle and all who live within it."

"What?!" Of all the things he expected from his father - the words that left his mouth just now were not amongst them. "You would destroy this place and all the souls within it - your home, a source of your power?"

"If I die, so be it. Let the darkness claim me, and the devil have my soul once and for all." Vlad turned back to the pool of blood before him, and held out one hand, palm down, as if warming it over a fire. Adrian could sense the power within his father swell. He was summoning some manner of dark magic to strike at the heart of the castle itself.

"Father, this is madness, even for you…"

"Are you not pleased?" his father said, glaring askance at him. "I thought you would rejoice."

"It is not of the action you wish to perform that I am apprehensive. I fear your motives towards such are rash and ill-inspired. If what you say is true, you are needed elsewhere." Adrian spoke his words carefully. The last time he confronted his father over a decision made from reckless hate, Adrian himself spent a year in a coffin, recovering.

"Tell me then, dear boy, where I am 'needed?'" Vlad said through a scoff.

"Mother died alone the night the humans came for her. You would leave Isabel to that same fate. Destroy this place or not, I do not wish to see you repeat your mistakes of the past. Mourn her in anger if you must, but do so once she is truly gone." Sometimes, Adrian felt as though he were scolding a child. He wondered if all children felt that way towards those who raised them.

Vlad lowered his head, and dropped his hand to his side, with a heavy sigh. Anger built up in him as a rageful snarl before he finally let out a roar and drove his fist into a nearby column. It cracked at the force of the impact - splintering the stone and caving it inwards with the strength behind the blow.

The vampire king's anger crumbled much the same as the stone beneath his wrath. The admission that came next shocked Adrian. "I destroyed the woman I love… What would you have me do..?" Dracula asked after a long pause, his head lowered again. Black hair shielding his face from view.

Dracula claimed to feel love for the young empath. Nothing in his manner suggested otherwise. Adrian felt deep sympathy now for his father - even after all he had suffered at Vlad's hands. He had never seen his father so vulnerable. Even after Lisa's death, Dracula had taken strength in his own convictions. Now, weary of life and loss, tired of this existence, he saw his father stripped away of all the arrogance and bloodlust he had come to represent. "... Go to her. After all this be said and done, I will assist you. In what ever fate you decide for yourself and this place."

"Thank you… my son."

And with that, he was gone.

* * *

The line between life and death is blurry.

It is a common misconception that when you died, it was a one-way step through the veil and into the 'ever after.' That it's easy to pinpoint the exact moment of death - the exact point of no return. The pearly gates. A door. A clearly marked threshold.

That isn't quite true.

From the outsider's perspective, sure. Mostly. Medical science can tell you when a person has entered 'brain death' - or that their organs have stopped working. But the exact point in which a soul leaves the body is harder to examine. Harder to understand.

Harder even to grasp when you are experiencing it. It is more like walking through a clearing in a wood - measurable by steps, perhaps. How close, how far, from the journey's end is subjective and in the eye of the explorer themselves.

Isabel now stood in that clearing - surrounded by the forest of her soul. She had just broken out of the trees behind her - and saw, across the stretch of soft grass, another wall of trees. Same forest, different trees. This was inside her head, she knew - her mind desperately trying to understand what was happening to her and visualising it as best she could.

The sun was setting.

She was dying.

The forest was silent around her - not even the rustle of wind in the trees. No animals in the branches, no birds singing their last tune before nightfall. She was alone.

Across the clearing, she saw only the same as she saw behind her - rows after rows of trees and brush. A deer path ahead of her - and she knew it was where she must go. Lingering here as the sky faded from its beautiful ruddy hue into blues and purples served no purpose. This was not a place that people stayed. Even those who lingered as ghosts did not come this way.

Isabel knew what it meant, to step along the deer path and into the trees ahead of her. Tears fell from her eyes as she understood and grasped entirely what was to happen to her - and what had transpired. There was no mystery here, no hidden secrets. This was not a walk in the woods that she took peacefully - but nor did she fight it.

Isabel had taken her own life. Driven a knife into her throat. The 'why,' had been complex and multifaceted. To avoid the pain of betrayal. To avoid the impossible decision Wraith and Vlad had faced her with. The pain flooded forward again as she remembered the confrontation with Vlad.

He had given her friends to the monster that hunted her - to see if she would betray him. Did he trust her so little? Did he care for her at all, as he had claimed? Isabel knew she was of little worth, in the grand scheme of life. It made perfect sense that Vlad would wish to be free of the burden that she posed.

But highest amongst her reasons for ending her life, was seeing the cold, stern look on Vlad's face. Feeling his guarded indifference.

Isabel let the tears fall. This was her path now.

Foot in front of foot, she silently made her way towards the other side.

It wasn't until her foot touched something wet upon the ground that she even knew she was barefoot.

A puddle of blood lay at her feet. Crimson against the grass. It should have been swallowed by the hungry earth. A vision of what she had become, perhaps? No. Isabel knew better. She knew she was no longer alone. "Come to see me off?" she said to the puddle.

A form took shape - building up from the blood at her feet. It took the shape of Vlad - although she knew now what she was looking at. With his long white hair, and eyes that were only shades of scarlet. Clothes that matched the shades of crimson that were once in the pool of blood.

It was the castle. Or at least, some semblance of it - only able to communicate in dreams, and now, in death.

"Please don't taunt me," she said with a weary breath, her hands tucked into her pockets. She had no need for her hoodie and gloves here. It didn't matter anymore. "Just let me go… you win. I'm so tired of being threatened, or reminded of my failures… Just please let me go without rubbing it in."

"You must return," the figure spoke, features creased in anger and strife.

"No," Isabel replied with a shake of her head. "I don't know what your game is, but no."

It stepped towards her - not threatening, but insistent. She held her ground, uninterested. She was past feeling fear. "You _must return,_ " it reiterated. "For his sake alone."

"I don't care." Isabel shrugged. "And neither should you. You're the one who wanted me dead."

"I cannot pull you back," the phantasm of Vlad said, brow furrowing in frustration and confusion. "His blood is a poison in your body, one I cannot overturn. You are beyond my reach."

"Good. Give me one reason why I should do anything you want."

"He will dismantle us all, if you do not return. He will _destroy us._ " There was fear in its voice, now. It raised its hand to her - as if to take her by the shoulders. But it hesitated - looking straight ahead in a desperate attempt to understand what was happening to it. Understand why she mattered so much. Isabel could at least sympathize with that much.

Isabel raised an eyebrow at that. "Why would he do that? Why do I suddenly _matter_?!"

"I cannot reach you. He seeks to end it - end us all. You _must return-_ " it was repeating itself like a broken record. Isabel realized it wasn't really hearing her - wasn't really _seeing_ her. Its eyes were unfocused, staring through her like she wasn't there. It was like an intercom system that had manifested itself. Broadcasting on every channel, trying to convince her. It probably didn't know if she could really hear it speaking. Isabel took a step to the side - and sure enough, the figure of the Castle as Vlad was pleading with empty air.

She was still alone. Isabel let out a wavering breath and looked at the woods that stretched out ahead of her. The path before her was cold - empty. Alone. Peaceful, if because of a lack of suffering. The path behind her was chaos, pain - and god only knows what truly awaited her.

"He will destroy us. He will destroy those you care about. He will destroy _all of us_ in his rage… You must return… You must stop him. We cannot!"

"Fuck off," she said to it, knowing it couldn't hear her. But man, it felt good anyway.

"You cannot leave him. You cannot leave him to be like this."

"What a load of horse shit," she said as she walked back in front of the unseeing spectre. She glared up at his pained expression. "What a load of _fucking lies,_ " she reared back her fist with the intention of punching the creature in the face. It wouldn't do any _real_ good - except man, she bet it would feel fantastic.

Her fist was stopped, a half inch from his face - and crimson eyes were now trained keenly on hers. It had caught her wrist in her hand. God, she was such an idiot. It couldn't see her - until she went to make any kind of contact with it.

It's face softened - no longer a look of pain and confusion, but instead of sorrow. "He loves you."

"You're lying, and I don't believe you." Isabel yanked on her wrist, but the creature held her fast. "Let me go," she said. She was very, very sick of saying those words.

It reached forward, and placed its other hand on her shoulder. "You will see."

Isabel's mind went white as it pushed a vision into her mind. A memory - as if she had touched someone for the first time, or touched an object. Flashes of imagery danced in front of her. This was what the castle remembered. She stood, watching herself and Vlad as she confronted him in the clocktower. Watched as she turned the blade on herself.

"No!" Vlad screamed and dashed forward - with all his vampiric speed. But he had not expected this. He had not thought she had been pushed that far. He was too late.

Vlad caught her in his arms as she collapsed, and he knelt, cradling her in his lap, hand uselessly trying to stop the blood that poured forth from the wound. He removed the knife and threw it aside, sending the offending object clattering across the marble floor.

Isabel watched herself as she coughed - eyes wide - and blood flecked her lips. As she tried to breathe, blood bubbled forth from the wound in neck and cascaded down her shirt. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to the wound, in a desperate attempt to slow the bleeding. But it only succeeded in turning the white cloth an instant tone of deep, dark red.

"You foolish, selfish thing-" Vlad said to her, as he cradled her dying body. "You cannot die! Not like this."

Isabel's eyes were now glassy, unseeing - the tempo of the blood pushing its way forward from the wound was slowing. In this memory, she wrapped her own arms around herself, the horror of watching herself die being almost too much to bear.

"No-" Vlad cried, his voice desperate and cracked. "Do not leave me…" Isabel watched as tears of blood formed at the corners of his eyes and ran down his cheeks, unchecked. She felt his agony - and it was not a lie. The horror she felt as she watched herself die was mirrored in the vampire king.

No healer would reach her in time, she knew. He could not move her, for fear of finishing the job and causing her further injury. So he did the only thing that was in his power to do. He bit into his own wrist, tearing the flesh open, uncaring at the painful gash he left behind.

He placed the open wound on his wrist to her parted lips, forcing his blood into her mouth. "You cannot go. Be you a vampire or human when you wake, you will not leave me! Not like this. Not due to my own _childish arrogance…_ " Vlad snarled angrily at himself. "Isabel," he said her name, and it was a plea into the darkness. Desperate. Hopeless. "Forgive me… I beg of you…"

The vision shattered and broke, and the creature that was the castle before her, in this clearing in the woods released her wrist. "Why?!" she yelled at the creature, tears in her eyes. "Why should I _fucking care?!"_

"He is going to destroy us all. Tear us down by brick and mortar until we are gone. For he no longer wishes any of us - he himself included - to exist at all!"

"Maybe that's a good thing," she retorted.

"Think on those you know within these walls that do not _deserve such a thing._ "

Isabel turned her back on the monster, arms wrapped around herself. She needed time to think. She had a choice before her, even before the castle appeared to show her that vision. Live, or die. Go forward, and send it all into the darkness as the sun set upon her soul. Return - and face all that it meant.

The sky was turning its twilight purple, and she knew her time was running out. Putting the knife in her throat had been a decision made out of pain, out of anger and suffering. She did not regret her actions. But she would not let herself commit to dying out of her own ego and out of spite.

She loved Vlad. Deeply, and with all that she was. But what he had done, the injury he dealt her, might be beyond her ability to forgive. He had pushed her to betray him, to test her, it seemed. He had refused to explain his motives before she had taken her own life. But regardless, his actions were the same. It would cost either his life, hers, Adam and Eric's, or some combination of the above. Someone would die.

Isabel had picked herself. With her dead, Adam and Eric were useless to Wraith. He would either murder them out of spite, or release them. But now, the Castle manifest was pleading with her to fight to survive - because Vlad was going to destroy the castle himself, and with that, everyone inside. _Everyone_ would die. The castle - or the semblance of it that appeared in her mind - had not been lying. And she could see Vlad deciding to tear it all down. Hurting himself, for what he had done to her. 'Misery loves company' could be his personal slogan.

Adrian. Maverick and Aria. Lyon. Undoubtedly dozens of others, who lived within the Castle she had yet to meet. They didn't deserve to face oblivion because of her. Could she step into the darkness beyond and decide their fates? What right did she have, to do that?

If she let herself fade away - Adam and Eric would die, swept away with everything else. If she returned, there was a chance… however slim… they _might_ live.

Isabel turned to walk back the way she came - and as her foot touched the grass behind her, she almost collapsed in pain. It felt like every fiber of her being was on fire - burning from the core. She cried out, and fell to her knees.

It took every ounce of her strength to stand up - force herself to get up through the pain, the flashes of memory. She felt the blood in her throat - felt the pain of the knife. Felt the pressure of Vlad's wrist to her lips. Now, she felt herself dying. Turning to walk back, to return, pushed those feelings to the top. The darkness.

Another step forward, and another - each step renewing the pain. Each step harder than the last. She could retreat, she knew. Turn around, walk into the end of her life, and all this would be over. The pain would end. But at what cost?

Another step, and another. She reached out to grab a tree that marked the edge of the clearing - desperately wanting to support herself with something. As her hand touched the bark - her world went black.


	19. Chapter 19

**Hi All! Once again, thank you all so _much_ for the reviews. One of you had a great couple of comments, and I'll respond to them down at the bottom. :)**

* * *

Where had she been?

It felt like she had walked for miles. She was so sore.

She remembered walking around the castle for what seemed like days. After Adrian had ditched her - and before Vlad had 'found her.' But that was _then_ , not _now._

Where was she _now?_

A dream, a memory, a thought?

A forest.

She had been in a forest.

Isabel opened her eyes - and the world was a hazy blur of dim colors. A blink, and then another - and it began to clear. If only just barely, she began to understand where she was. She was lying in an a bed. Covers were pulled up over her to her chest, but tucked under her arms. She could feel the soft cloth under her hands, which lay atop the sheets. She felt both cold, and hot, all at once. The bed had a canopy overhead, decorated with rich, dark fabric spanning the posts. Like one you would always wish for as a child, but as an adult you realize how utterly impractical they are.

The thought of her childhood skipped over her mind like a rock on a the surface of a pond. She didn't have a childhood - not one of her own, anyway. Memories were all that anybody ever had of their lives, and all her memories of being young were from the lives of others. Stitched together like a bad quilt. Scraps and bits and pieces, arranged into a whole. None of the pieces were hers, but the quilt was her creation, at least.

A fever - that's what she had, she realized. That explained her wandering mind and heavy head. The world swirled and swayed around her. The flickering of candles arranged on a table nearby danced shadows across the ceiling - orange and yellow. Spectres in a waltz. It was dark in this room, with no gas or electric lamps lit. Why? Why keep it so dark?

Oh.

For the solemnity of the occasion.

Isabel remembered then - the dagger.

She was dying.

Consciousness fluttered like a bird in a cage, ready to escape at any time. It took a great deal of focus to force herself to stay in the present. Death was a breath away. She could feel it. If she willed it, she'd be back in the forest of her soul.

It was then, through the haze of the fever, that the sensation of pain returned. She hurt. She ached _everywhere._ Not just the wound in her throat which stung like a nest of bees had made its home there - but all of her body felt like lava were flowing through her veins.

 _Dracula's blood is a poison,_ she remembered through the haze. He had fed her his own blood in the hopes of saving her life. Had it worked? Or was she a vampire, now? Or was this burning and horrible ache the poison that had killed all those women in the glass coffins?

Isabel felt so weak - so heavy, that she couldn't even muster the strength to cry out in pain.

She turned her head to finally look about the room and not just at the ceiling and fabric canopy overhead. It was Vlad's chambers - it took her that long to recognize where she was in the dim lighting. As she turned her head, the room threatened to keep moving - or move in an entirely unwelcome direction. Nausea flooded her for a second, and she had to take a moment to keep from letting it overwhelm her.

A chair had been pulled beside the bed. A chair that did not sit empty. A figure - dark clothed, sat with his broad shoulders slumped forward. An elbow on his knee, and his head in his hand. Long black hair fell alongside his face, obscuring it from view. He was the vision of hopelessness. Of sorrow.

His other pale, sharp-nailed hand lay on the bed next to hers. The room was silent but for the ticking of a clock in the background - quietly going about its duty with no mind to their troubles.

The clocktower. Oh right... All of _that_ fucking mess.

Isabel watched the vampire for a time. Her current opinion of him was… complicated. And her mind was hardly clear enough to start reasoning through it now. He sat, unmoving - and his misery filled the room, thick as fog. Isabel couldn't leave him like that. She moved her hand, which was nearly as pale as his. It took a great deal of effort on her part even just to lift her fingers - and barely, just barely, she brushed her fingers along his. She didn't have the strength for anything else.

His head raised - still shrouded in shadow in the dim light of the room. Her hazy, feverish mind tried to keep track of him as he shifted from the chair towards her. He wasn't moving quickly - but any motion at all sent her mind toppling over itself in her feverish state. Vlad sat beside her on the bed, and she felt his gentle touch on her forehead, as he stroked her hair away from her face. "My little dove…"

She opened her mouth to speak - but no noise came out. Nothing happened - except the stinging in her throat redoubled its efforts. She cringed, and tried to fight the urge to cough. But it was useless. The pain in her throat forced her to try to clear her throat and all she managed was a horrible wheezing noise that left her mouth tasting strongly of blood.

Darkness wrapped its fingers around her mind and began to pull her back into unconsciousness. Her body was too weak to fight it - her mind too hazy to struggle. But with Dracula's hand upon her skin - as she descended back into her feverish mind - she did not go alone.

* * *

Isabel sat on a park bench, looking out at the playground in front of her. She knew this memory well - but it had been a very long time since she had revisited it in person. The sun was shining, and young children were running about, laughing and shrieking as they ran about the steel and wooden structures of the park. It was an extremely poor neighborhood - but the people who lived here seemed to make the best of it. To children, play was play. It didn't matter how expensive the surroundings happened to be.

"To where have you brought us?"

Isabel glanced up at the figure standing next to her, who looked ridiculously out of place in his current surroundings. The dour vampire king stood in his long, black peacoat - garbed otherwise in dated, if otherwise elegant formalwear that was his preference. At least he looked like a man from the forties, and not of the fourteen forties. Progress.

'Updated' clothing or not, no one could ever be fooled by what he actually was. The pale skin, long black hair, and red eyes that glared at the scene in front of him, bore a seriousness that commanded instant respect and fear. He could be dressed in a t-shirt and jeans and he'd still stand out like a sore thumb.

"My first memory," Isabel looked back to the scene in front of her. "Well, at least it's the first memory I remember having. It isn't mine." Isabel leaned back on the bench and crossed her legs in front of her. "1960's Ukraine, as far as I can figure. Judging by the language and the clothing."

"Ah."

They both watched the scene in for a moment before speaking. Finally, Isabel felt the need to supply more - unable to just let the silence linger. "That girl there - the one on the swings." She pointed briefly. "This is her memory. I was in a car crash when I was thirteen or fourteen that killed my parents and the other driver. I don't remember anything of my life prior to that. An old woman was in the other car - and this is her childhood. I guess we wound up touching somehow during the wreck, I don't know."

"I see," he said. She looked up at him, and she could hear the discomfort in his voice. Silence descended again. He very clearly did not know how to, or didn't want to, start the inevitable conversation they were about to have.

"Do you know, every day I look in the mirror - I wonder if I'm a person at all," she said, finally breaking into the silence between them. The playground was still a jabber of sounds, but yet the nothingness between the two of them seemed to far outweigh the din of children playing.

That garnered no response from him. So, she plodded on, even if he didn't feel like contributing. "Who am I, really? Sometimes, I really don't know. Am I even my own person, or just the result of everyone I've ever touched or come across? If every moment connects the next - then every memory effects who you are. Every decision you've ever make is a product of the live you've lived. Your context. _My_ context - isn't really _mine_. All I am is a train car filled with everyone else's... baggage."

Still, Vlad stood silent.

"Wraith asked me how he was any different than you. He got the comparison wrong. How is he any different than me? He had the misfortune of being created with the memories of a hundred thousand deaths. He's the product of what he can remember. No wonder he's _fucking insane."_

Isabel gestured with her hand, and the memory froze - locked in time. A ball, which had been the means of a simple game of catch between two young boys, was now hovering in midair. The swings were caught in time, part way along their arcs. The sound of children laughing and shouting sharply cut off into silence.

Isabel folded her arms across her chest, idly kicking the foot that was crossed over the other. They had a great deal to reconcile between the two of them. And he appeared to want to leave it to her to begin.

It seemed wrong, to argue with him in a place like this. So, she allowed the memory to fade and transition to something more suitable for what was about to transpire. Now, instead of sitting on a park bench, she was sitting on a table-top tomb of some old burying ground in Charlestown, just outside of Boston. She had broken into a crypt here with her friends on some job, ages ago. The hill in the center was adorned with a single tree and an obelisk dedicated to some important guy somewhere - John Harvard, maybe? The ancient stones seemed much more fitting a background scene for the angry vampire king.

Dracula took a moment to look about himself and see where she had brought him. It seemed the sight of the graves were what finally inspired him to speak. "You are dying," Vlad said quietly, his dark voice carrying now through the silence with little effort.

"No shit, Sherlock. I'd be dead by now if your pet building hadn't come and tried to talk me out of it," she replied. She wasn't trying to be spiteful, but it was hard not to be.

He was silent for a long moment. Isabel could sense his turmoil. He was a whitewater rapid of anger, loathing, and pain. But anger towards whom, she didn't know. Her reply had cut him to the quick. That it was not for _him_ that she chose to fight for life.

"What said it, to change your mind?" Vlad responded, with a seething anger threatening to boil over under the surface.

"It showed up to talk to me out of self defense, not for any concern for me. It said you were going to destroy the castle as whole - and reminded me that if you did that, you'd be murdering the people I care about. Adam and Eric will _probably_ die, thanks to you - but if I let you destroy this place, they will _absolutely_ die." Isabel paused. "And Lyon and Adrian don't deserve it, either. I'm sure there are others. You're holding a gun to their heads - of course I had to try to come back to save them."

"Then you plan to betray me to the creature Wraith, to save your friends."

Isabel laughed, a sad and cruel laugh directed only at herself, and shut her eyes. She knew he was holding back his fury. "No, Vlad. I won't. That's why I did what I did. I can't betray you. I can't betray my friends. You both put me with an impossible choice. I have no path forward from this. So I removed myself from the equation."

"Pray tell, what keeps you from saving your dear friends? Is it not their safety that you covet so highly, you threw yourself upon my mercy when all this began?!" Vlad snarled, and his anger was so thick it finally made her stand up from atop the tomb where she sat, and turn to face him.

His red eyes shone in the darkness, catching what little light there was from the nearby streets, causing them to glint.

"What keeps me from saving them?! You can't be serious," she said through an incredulous laugh.

" _Humor me,"_ he seethed.

"You, you idiot!" she yelled at him. "How can I betray you?! How the _fuck_ am I supposed to chose between the 'creature' that I love, and the only family I've ever known?!"

He was on her in an instant - covering the distance between them in a blink of an eye. His hand was around her throat, and she found herself trapped between him and the edge of the tomb. He was bending her backwards over the lip, arching her back and throwing her off balance. His other hand was on top of the ancient stone - she could hear his nails digging into the rock surface like it were clay. "How could you love me as you say - and leave me watch you die by your own hand?! Do not lie to me once more, Isabel! I shall willfully suffer much from you, my little empath… But no more will I condone such falsehoods uttered to my face." He was snarling angrily down at her - his fangs extended in his rage.

It was hard to muster words through his fury, and the grip on her throat. But anger was a hard emotion to mute. "You think I'm lying?!"

"Think of me what you will. I am no fool, child…"

Isabel tried to push him off of her, but he wouldn't budge. She felt tears stinging at the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "If you despise me this much, then let me die…"

"Do not mock me!" he hollered at her, his eyes now red from lid to lid in his fury. His hand dug harder into her throat, and if they were in the waking world, she knew he'd leave a bruise. "Why must you seek to belittle me, to seek to exploit my weakness towards you?! Why must you torment me so?!"

He pushed away from her then, leaving her holding on to the edge of the tomb for support. He stormed away from her. With a howl of rage, he punched a stone obelisk near him - shattering it from the blow, sending the top half toppling over as rubble.

"I am unable to read your heart and mind," he said finally, his anger having cooled, if only barely. "Even joined in blood and body, you are guarded from me. Oft have I tried to thrall you to my will to learn the truth. Yet every time I seek to peel away the veil that keeps your motives secret to me, I am _denied._ Your will cannot be bent."

"So I'm a liar, then - because you don't have _proof?!_ Am I supposed to be thankful you haven't tried to hypnotize me - or whatever the hell you're talking about?"

"The harm I would have to cause you to see such proof for myself is perhaps beyond even my capacity for cruelty. It would surely leave you a shell in its wake. So yes, perhaps you might recognize the depths to which I could still drag your soul," he threatened, his back still to her.

It felt so defeating - so demoralizing. It felt the same as when she turned the knife on herself. And if she had the chance in this moment, she'd do the same again. "That's what this whole thing is about. Giving Wraith my friends. You wanted proof that I loved you - _more_ than them. If I sacrifice them, it's the proof you need. If I don't, if I betray you - you're vindicated. Either way you're 'right.'" Isabel's eyes teared up, and she swiped at them angrily. "What I don't understand - what I can't _even begin to grasp -_ is why do you care at all?! What does it matter to you, whether I love you or if I'm lying?!"

"Do not ask foolish questions."

"Humor me," she mimicked him from earlier. He was silent, his head lowered, hands balled into fists. He still did not turn around to face her. He refused to answer. "I thought it was because you couldn't stand the idea of being stuck with me for eternity as your 'companion.' I thought it was because you finally realized I'm a weak little mortal, and you were sick and tired of having to save me. I thought you left me to deal with Wraith to watch me dance at the end of your sick little strings. But now, why do you care if I die?! I saved you the trouble of doing it yourself when you finally get bored of-"

Her words were cut off as his hand clamped over her mouth, keeping her from speaking. He had appeared in front of her again without moving. His eyes, red from lid to lid, were narrowed in pure fury. Isabel tried to shrink away from him, but his other hand held her upper arm in a vice grip.

"Do not play naive, empath!" he hissed. "You speak of games? You speak of dancing upon puppet strings? And yet you claim innocence?! You know my heart and soul, as they are an open page before you. You see through to my very core - and all the secrets of my millenia upon this earth are yours to wander like a petty _tourist._ Yet you claim it is beyond your _comprehension_ why your death would send me to destroy all that I know?! Why I would pitch a hundred thousands souls unto the void, in grief?!"

His grip on her arm tightened, and she winced in pain. The tears that she had struggled to keep from falling escaped her eyes now that she couldn't wipe them away. "If you require me to say the words aloud - to debase myself at your feet for your own _sick joy,_ very well." He paused for a moment - and he said the words through such hate, it would have made her laugh if she weren't so terrified. "I love you, my little dove..."

The words caved him in, destroying his rage. He released her, and she staggered backwards, leaning up against the tabletop tomb once more. She retreated from him, looking down at the ground - her mind reeling from his words. Isabel felt left behind in the dust - that the train had ripped past her, leaving her at the station. "I…" she was at a loss for words. "I didn't… I didn't know."

"Now I am certain you lie," Dracula said with a dark chuckle.

Isabel shook her head no. But how? How couldn't she know?! How couldn't she have felt it? Her mind reeled for answers, tripping over itself trying to figure it out. She leaned against the tomb, and stared down at her feet, unable to meet his piercing gaze. "I've never known what it's like to be loved… Not once. Like a sister, maybe… But not - not like that. Either I don't know what it's like - so I have no way to recognize it - or…" Isabel paused, not wanting to say the words. Not wanting to admit it. But there wasn't any point in hiding from him - not now, not ever again. "Or I thought it was too impossible."

"Explain."

Isabel shut her eyes, and wrapped her arms around herself. "Why would you love me? Look at all of the creatures that serve you - powerful, unique, unstoppable, beautiful… Here I am, a weak, helpless little mortal, unable to even protect myself. Looked what happened to Lisa. The same - or worse - could happen to me at any moment." Isabel had said the words to Adam and Eric - and she had meant them. "I don't know what you see in me. It must be boredom. The fun of having somebody love you. A new toy to play with - ready to throw aside the moment you get bored."

"You cannot be truthful," Vlad responded incredulously, stepping towards her. She tried to avoid the urge to step away from him. "To think _yourself_ as below this damned _wretch_ you see before you…?" A hand cupped her chin, and turned her face upwards. His eyes searched hers - as if to see through her. As if to see the truth. His anger had been replaced with sorrow. Heartbreak. Whatever he found there, seemed to break him in two.

He kissed her, then. It wasn't a heated kiss, as often they were. It was desperate, begging, longing. _Loving._ It bared himself to her, and she found her hands wound into the fabric of his vest, holding onto him like he was the last thing in the world.

Finally, after what felt like eternity, the kiss ended. His arms wrapped around her, and he held her to his chest, as if she would fly away at any moment.

His words were soft, barely above a baritone whisper in his chest. "My heart was stolen the moment I laid eyes upon you. When I found yourself lost inside my mind, a place _no one_ has ever tread but I. Innocent and wise, young with the memories of a thousand years inside you… And such compassion to melt the hardest soul… I loved you then. I had to have you. I hunted you, sought to make you mine in all ways - in hopes I could make you feel the same."

He paused for a long moment, as if searching for words. "So much do I despise what I have become, I sought to see a liar where there was none… I thought that you must know my heart - and sought to use it against me…" He rested his forehead against the top of his head, his words heavy. "I do not know how to mend the wrong that I have dealt you - but I will find a way..."

The world faded into nothingness, then. His presence left her mind - and she wasn't sure why. Was he pulled away? Was she dying? She didn't know.

But the blackness took her all the same.

* * *

Isabel's next cohesive thought was the sound of people _yelling._

God, it hurt. Not just everything else - but the angry sounds. Her mind was past the ability to sort the syllables into words. It could have been Swahili for all the good it did her. She forced herself to open her eyes - even though they felt like they'd much prefer being shut. The room swirled dangerously around her for a moment, before stilling.

She was where she was before - Vlad's bed, in his chambers. Blinking, she turned her head to look for the source of the sound. It wasn't hard to find. Standing halfway across the room, Vlad and Lyon were yelling at each other. They hadn't come to blows - but it looked like they might.

The din of the argument was making her head pound, made everything throb like a migraine was trying to rip her brain out of her ears. It had to end. This pain had to _end._

Isabel opened her mouth to speak - but no noise came out. The bees were back, but this time she managed to hold back the cough that would have probably knocked her unconscious again. Even if she _could_ speak, she was sure it would be too quiet for them to hear her over the ruckus they were creating.

So she did the only thing she could think of. She yelled - in her mind, _at them_ \- as loud as she could. Vlad would hear her. They needed to stop - more than anything else in the world right now, she _needed them to stop._

 _Will you two shut up?!_

It'd be a hard game to try and figure out which of the three of them looked more surprised. The moment she 'shouted' silently - the two of them stopped short. Their anger vanished in the blink of an eye, and they found themselves staring at each other - confused and out of place. It was as though in one moment, their anger was taken away. Or more aptly, 'overwritten.'

"What in God's name…?" Lyon muttered, looking very much like someone had slapped him in the face with a wet rag.

"I do not believe God had anything to do with it…" Dracula responded, and and turned to look at her, lying in the bed. With blatant confusion, he scrutinized her.

"I assume, then, it was your voice I heard. I am glad to see you awake, Isabel," Lyon said sincerely, smiling gently at her. "As unsettling a greeting as that was."

"You heard her?" Vlad narrowed his eyes, thinking. Then, he seemed to finish piecing together the puzzle before him. "You have survived the poison of my blood, it seems. I did not know what manner of effect it would have upon you. I think, perhaps, it has changed the nature of your gift."

Isabel tried to respond, and only managed to hack once - a weak sound with nothing to back it. She touched a hand to her throat - at least her limbs didn't feel so heavy. A bandage was what she found under her fingers. _How long was I out?_ She asked Vlad, silently. _Am I your companion, now?_

 _A day has passed since last we spoke,_ he responded in kind. _And no… not yet. Once more, I believe, will end the ritual. One way or another._

Isabel sighed, at least she could do that much. She tried to sit up, and Vlad went to assist her - helping her move to rest her back against the headboard. He handed her a cup of water that she took with a faint smile, and sipped it. God, it felt amazing. _You think I had anything to do with your fight stopping?_ She asked.

"I believe you commanded our emotions… and demanded we stop our argument," Vlad responded aloud. He sat on the edge of the bed, and looked over at Lyon. "As is likely for the best. Oft in this past week we have had topics to dispute. Avoiding another scuffle is preferable to us both."

Lyon only smirked. "The blood of the original vampire is bound to have… unpredictable effects. No one has ever survived through this process as long as you have, my lady. It gives me hope that you may endure."

Isabel smiled back, and sipped the water again. She tried to think _towards_ the priest. It was weird - but it wasn't any different than how she had learned to communicate with Dracula. _Thanks._

"You are very welcome," he replied with a bow at the waist - confirming that he had indeed heard her voice a second time. "I will take my leave of you both. My Lord, we will finish our… 'conversation' another time." And with that, he was gone in a swirl of mist.

Isabel coughed suddenly, and she tasted blood in her mouth again. Dracula took a handkerchief from the nightstand and held it out to her. She took it, and coughed into it as she tried to clear her throat. Finally, her coughing stopped - and when she took it away, it was flecked with blood. _This is what consumption must have felt like,_ she observed sarcastically.

"Not an entirely inaccurate observation," Vlad said, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand stroked her hair gently, and handed her the glass of water again. She took a sip, glad for the water to dilute the coppery flavor in her mouth.

It hurt to breathe too deeply - so she resigned herself to shallow breaths for the time being. Isabel tried to reach up to touch his face - and could barely muster the strength to do so. Seeing her struggle, he took her hand in his, and lifted it, kissing her palm before letting her hand settle on his cheek.

His voice was quiet as he saw her struggle with the pain, a baritone rumble in his chest that was barely above a whisper. "Forgive me… but I could not let you go." He combed his hand through her hair gently, tucking a strand behind her ear. "I am a marvel that you, who can see into my very soul, could not discern there, amongst the shadows and the death - the extent to which I love you."

* * *

It was another full day before Isabel could get on her feet. Her legs felt weak, unstable - but she made herself walk. She was sore and stiff, but all things considered, she felt… okay. It was Dracula's blood at work again, she was positive. There's no other way she could heal this quickly.

But her voice was not returning.

The feeling of bees and the coughing up blood had stopped - but now when she tried to speak, nothing came out. Vlad had now taken her to see one of the castle's 'physicians.' As close to a doctor as they had. Vlad had argued with her during the entire lead-up to the visit that the castle was, in fact, in all ways superior to human _mortal_ science. That due to their lack of stigma and the dark ages, the Castle had medical capabilities far beyond those of any 'normal' hospital.

She had pointed out (silently) that they probably didn't know how to treat ' _humans'_ if they themselves weren't ' _human.'_ She had then pointed out that to an outside observer, his one-sided argument must make him look suitably crazy.

Either way, she lost the debate, and now she sat in a room, looking like every sketch of a Victorian doctor's parlor - if they had borrowed enough technology from the twenty-third century to make them happy, and cobbled the two things together in bizarre ways. No wonder Eric was so happy here. The reminder that he, and Adam, were trapped with that monster Wraith didn't do much for her mood.

The doctor - who mostly looked human, but wasn't fooling anybody - had carefully unwrapped the bandage at her throat. She hadn't seen it personally yet, and he peered at the spot where she had put the knife through her throat. He made a 'hm,' noise, and taking a piece of cotton soaked in alcohol - swabbed at it.

Isabel winced - expecting it to sting… but nothing happened. She looked over at Vlad, confused.

 _The wound has healed,_ he said to her silently. He was brooding by one wall, watching the unfolding scene carefully. _There is a small scar, nothing else._

The doctor then ran tests - peering down her throat, or holding up some strange contraption over her throat and then examining the results. It felt halfway between 'Star Trek' and a Jules Verne novel to her. Finally, the tests ended.

"It is possible," the doctor began, turning to scribble into a notepad, then turning his pen around to tap on the page with the back of it thoughtfully as he spoke. "That due to the order of events in which things occurred - your injury, loss of blood, and then the reintroduction of Lord Dracula's blood… It is possible that your wound healed, but did not repair your vocal chords. IT has all the appearance of a wound long healed. Now, I am not certain. Your voice may return in time."

 _So you're saying I might never speak again?_ She asked the doctor, silently. It was a strange trick, learning to think 'at people' to communicate - but it worked.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. "One might say you can still speak," he pointed out to her dutifully. "There is a chance, yes, that your voice may stay the way it is. But it may return. These things take time - especially with mortal physiology. I am afraid there is nothing else I can do."

Isabel sighed. She supposed she literally only had herself to blame. She nodded, and stood from the table, and smiled to him - thanking him for his help. Vlad reached his hand to her, and she took it. In a roar of fire, they were gone.

* * *

Adrian had spent the past few days, allowing himself a few moments of nostalgia. It was unlikely he would ever have the opportunity to once again wander his childhood home in peace.

It was on the ramparts that he met a figure he did not recognize. Well, that is not entirely true - the creature that stood in front of him was in a form that he knew. Orlock. But Adrian's senses were keen enough to know when something was… awry.

"Hey there, pretty boy," the vampire said, grinning wickedly. It was a phrase that ill-suited the ancient creature.

"Who are you?" Adrian asked, his hand on the hilt of his blade.

The figure of the ancient vampire laughed, and leaned on one foot, in a manner that was foreign to the creature that Adrian had known. "Oh, buddy-boy... You're about to find out… _Mind if I snag a ride?!_ "

* * *

 **As one of you noted - yes, this is getting close to the end. I think we'll have one, maybe two chapters left after this. I have a hell of an ending in mind. I can't thank you enough for the compliments - it really means a lot and it makes it feel like I'm writing for more than my own amusement.**

 **I am planning on writing a story that focuses on Adrian next - he's the hardest one to write for to be honest. (Seeing as he was basically a walking brick in the game.) So I was getting a feel for him - and, he served a nice purpose. I have my main characters in mind, I just need to figure out a little more of the framework. But I'll get that going right when this one winds up. It'll be titled 'Halfway Between.'**

 **Dracula was amazing fun to write with - he's got a lot of dimension to him, and, as you can tell - he's so inherently sexual it's just great to start a scene and 'watch what happens.' ;)**

 **Stay tuned!**


	20. Chapter 20

**Here we are, second to last chapter! I have to decide how far to take things in the last one. (You'll see what I mean. :P)**

 **Thank you once again for all the awesome reviews! It's wonderful knowing there are people reading and enjoying - and that I should get the next chapter out as soon as it's done.**

 **I'm already starting to sketch out an outline for my next Castlevania fic. So while this one'll be coming to a close soon, I'll have another one out soon.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

A week had passed, and her voice had yet to return. Isabel was starting to adjust - although she was hardly happy about it. Speaking telepathically to others, instead of aloud, was... weird. But people are pretty adaptable, when you get down to it. The first few days, she'd always forget - open her mouth to say something and be reminded of her new condition every time nothing came out. But each time it happened, it felt just a little less significant. A little less heartbreaking.

What she'd done - attempting to take her own life - there was a price to pay for something like that. This is what it was, it seemed. It was only fair. She'd miss singing - but she sarcastically commented to Vlad that the world wouldn't, so maybe she was doing everyone a favor.

Otherwise, she had recovered from what had happened - and there was no sign of Wraith. Dracula had minions searching the castle, but the man was as elusive as his namesake. Every day that went by was marred with the dread of what was happening to Adam and Eric - trapped with, or _inside,_ that monster. Vlad had vowed to her that he would find a way to safely retrieve her friends. Isabel was anything but an optimist, and she knew, deep down, that no one was getting out of this unscathed. The question was just simply 'how bad.'

She stood on the balcony of his chambers, leaning against the railing - a thick coat wrapped around herself to keep away the cold as best as possible. The freezing air made the perpetual night sky crisp and beautiful - and she could even see the barest hints of aurora borealis at the horizon. The night sky was astonishing in all its glory - with no light pollution to blot any of it out.

But damned if it wasn't _freezing._

Tex had described temperatures in the following spectrum, from hot to cold: Fuckin' hot, balls hot, stupid hot, stupid cold, fuckin' freezing, cold as balls, witch's tits cold, and ending with 'what the actual fuckin' dick cold.' Eric had once made a chart for it and taped it to the inside of their van. A little magnet was there for Tex to officially notate the current temperature. This definitely fell into the category of 'what the actual fuckin' dick cold.' The memory of her friend made her smile.

When they had last spoken, Wraith had insisted that he was 'rescuing' her. She believed him. Not that he really was rescuing her - but that he honestly believed the words he was saying. That he _honestly thought_ he was saving her. That was the only thing that let her believe that there was a chance her friends were still okay. Wraith's sick, violent obsession with her seemed to be borne out of some kind of sadistic infatuation.

It was why using her as 'bait' was the perfect ploy.

It had worked once before, after all.

The suggestion was made by Dracula in a meeting with Lyon and several other of his 'generals' a few hours prior. And honestly, she couldn't find fault with it. As little as she wanted to be the worm on the end of the hook, it was the only surefire way to draw the asshole ghost out of the shadows. He wasn't stupid - and knew how to wait them out, it seemed. It looked like she was the only thing that would force the monster's hand. The prize that was too good not to try to snatch at any opportunity.

Everyone else in the room agreed with Dracula. Not because they meant her any direct ill will - but because it was honestly the most logical course of action. Lyon had been the voice of caution - after all, look what happened _last_ time Dracula used her as bait.

'It will be different this time,' Dracula had said, voice dark and heavy with foreboding meaning. Even Isabel had no idea what he had been talking about.

Isabel puffed out a cloud of air, and watched it form into mist in the cold and dissipate. She clutched the coat tighter to herself. She usually hated being cold - but with the warmth of the castle only a few feet away, it made the temporary situation bearable. If not somewhat a little enjoyable.

"You will catch your death in this cold," a voice said from beside her, close to her ear.

Isabel jumped nearly a foot in the air, startled. She would have made a noise, if she could have. She whirled around, and saw Dracula standing behind her, smirking in enjoyment at her reaction.

"I would not linger long," he said. Isabel observed his breath created no mist on the icy winter air. More proof that he wasn't alive - as easy as it was to forget sometimes.

Isabel shook her head, silently scolding him for scaring her, and turned to look back out at the frozen woods. His arms wrapped around her, and she let herself rest up against his chest. He was so much taller than her - it was an easy thing to feel shrouded by him. She felt warmer - but it was just a trick of the mind. He had no body heat of his own.

' _It's beautiful out here,'_ she commented to him. And it was made all the more so, with him there with her. The man who was as cold on the surface as the winter sky - and a raging inferno beneath.

"Indeed," was his simple reply.

They stood there for a long moment, enjoying the peace and quiet. It was Vlad, who broke the silence. His voice was heavy - loathing that he must do so. "Come."

Isabel let out a final puff of air, watching it float away as mist. It may be the last time she watched that happen - and for a moment, it seemed as beautiful as the dancing of lights on the horizon.

She knew what was going to happen next.

A silent understanding had come between them the past few days, as she adapted to his blood in her veins. Little had to be said between them, for better or worse. As he turned from her to walk inside, she followed him.

Stepping through the large doors that lead into his personal library - the blast of warm air that met her face was a welcome one. Isabel walked to the fireplace, glad for the crackling flame that Vlad always kept burning in his hearth. She held out her hands to warm them, and tried to enjoy the moment - even as dread filled her.

A moment later, and he approached her again, this time holding a glass of red wine out to her. She took it, smiled thankfully, and sipped it. Something told her she'd need it for what was about to happen.

She sipped it, and let the wine warm her along with the fire. Gently, slowly - he pulled the heavy coat from her shoulders, placing it on a table nearby. She let him, without turning away from the fire. Isabel tried to swallow her fear of what was about to happen. It meant all things would change - finally, and forever.

His hands settled on her shoulders, trying to comfort her. Once, not too long ago, she would have recoiled at his touch. It would have terrified her. And now, it was one of the few things that gave her any feeling of safety. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and she let herself lean back against him once more. She sipped the wine again, and put the glass atop the mantle over the fireplace. As she did, she felt one of his hands slide slowly across her neck, fingers running gently up her neck to her jaw - turning her head to face him. He kissed her, and she felt his soul, his mind, close to hers.

If she were to die, she would die content like this.

She let him tilt her head away as he ended the kiss, and trailed his chill lips down to the side of her neck. Her own hand reached up to tangle in his hair, as he kissed her skin - feeling flush with the sudden change from the cold air to the warmth of the fire. His other hand was now wrapped around her, pressing her back against him. A moment later, and she felt the familiar sting of his fangs.

She gasped, arching against his arm, which held her to him firmly. A low purr in his throat - the sound of a primal beast feeding, sent a chill through her. He fed from her - lazily, drawing out the moment as long as he could - not wanting to let it end. Savoring it. Savoring her. Knowing it may be the last of her he may ever have.

Finally, his lips left her neck, and he kissed his way up her jawline, and let his teeth graze her ear. His breath was warm now, as he exhaled against her - warmth he had borrowed from her. Vlad kept her on her feet as he settled down into his wingback chair, and pulled her into his lap. She sat sideways against him, and felt lightheaded from the blood loss.

Isabel met his gaze - amber to crimson - and knew this was the end. One way or another. Dracula meant to let her drink his blood for the last time. To make her his 'companion' - immortal, but human. Bound to him, and he to her, for an unknowable time. Or… this would kill her. It would turn the page on this chapter of their time together. Either she would belong to him, or the grave.

Suddenly, she kissed him - not wanting to say goodbye. Not wanting this to be the end. Her red king. Her lord of the darkness. Her lover - her hunter. If she were honest, there was fear in her kiss. Fear of the darkness that would claim her - either way. Either his, or the darkness of death.

Until this moment, she could have been free. Could have run - or been released by him. Could have taken Wraith's bargain, and leave this place. But in a few moments, all that would be gone. Of course, her path had been chosen long ago. There was no leaving him. No forgetting her love for him. But for some reason, the lack of _choice_ scared her.

But the time had come. Now it was time to finish this. Either she would belong to him, and he to her, until she was dust - or she would pass through the cold forest of her soul once more, alone. Isabel ended the kiss, and with a wavering, long exhale - nodded once. She was ready.

Deftly, he undid the top buttons of his shirt and pulled the fabric away, baring part of his chest. A swift movement of a sharp nail, and the red line appeared just at his collarbone.

Isabel lowered her head to the wound, and let herself run her tongue along it. She felt him tense in pleasure, and let out a low growl in his throat as she let her lips press against the cut, and felt the liquid enter her mouth.

It burned her tongue as she tasted it. Her body lurched and twitched - and she reflexively tried to pull away. Subconsciously, she knew it was poison. Like touching a hot burner, she tried to whip away. But his hand was against the back of her head, pinning her to him.

She would have cried out - would have whimpered. She tried. Isabel squeezed her eyes tight, feeling like she was drinking boiling water. It felt like it wouldn't ever end - that she'd burn in this hellfire forever.

But then, the damage had been done. She felt it, tearing through her system like boiling hot wax poured directly into her veins. Thick, molten metal searing through her flesh. Vlad released the grip against her head, and let her straighten up, gasping for air and wanting to tear at her own skin in the pain.

Tears stung her eyes as she tried to cry out - but no noise left her lips as she spasmed in pain. He held her to him, shushing her gently, trying to soothe what he knew he could not repair.

Isabel fought to stay conscious, fought to stay awake as the pain tore through her like a freight train. She knew if she let the darkness take her - she would never surface again. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she silently screamed in the agony of it.

She balled up her fist and slammed it into her thigh - trying to give herself something else to focus on. Trying to force something else through the pain that felt like she had been submerged in boiling water.

' _Too hot… please,'_ she cried to him silently.

He picked her up in his arms - carrying her like she was nothing - and stepped back out into the icy, freezing air of the arctic forest where the castle now resided. The bitter, sub-zero temperatures felt like a blessing now against her. Even if it was a falsehood - even if it was all the work of the poison, it let her think about something other than the _burning pain._

She let herself breathe the cold air - slowly, feeling the stinging chill fight for supremacy in her mind. Isabel was trembling - overwhelmed with the burning in her veins and the cold that washed against her.

If she let it happen, she'd be unconscious. If she let the darkness at the edge of her vision step forward, she'd be gone. It'd be so easy, just to… let go. It'd be so easy just to sink into it - away from all the pain, and uncertainty. To join the women in those glass coffins. To be another failed attempt.

But he would be left behind with the pain. He would be abandoned here, while she sought the easy road out. Abandoned with his grief, his loss. Abandoned with his _eternity._

The other women couldn't have understood what it meant to him. They loved him, as much as she did - that she knew. But they couldn't feel what it was like to exist - forever - and alone, like he did. They couldn't feel his silent resolve against the agony it was to see everything he had ever loved, fall away to dust.

They couldn't.

But she _could._

Isabel knew what she was fighting for. Isabel had seen through to his core - had seen even the stars of his youth that were taken away by the uncaring hand of time. Isabel knew that if she died here, now - he would love again. Someone would love him again. But knew that they would _never_ see him as clearly as she did. They would _never_ know the truth of his soul as she could.

Isabel had to fight. She had to survive.

Gritting her teeth, she shifted against him. She wanted to stand. She couldn't let the pain rampaging through her body consume her. Vlad, unsure at first, put her down, gently - letting her feet touch the stone. His hands stayed at her elbows, ready to catch her the moment she fell.

Isabel stood there, wobbling on her feet just slightly - and let her eyes reopen. She looked down at her hands - and felt her muscles twitch. Everything in her was tense. Grasping his arm, she kept herself from falling as her legs threatened to give out. As he reached out to grab her, she stopped him - she needed to do this. She needed to fight it herself.

Still, the burning threatened to overtake everything. When she looked down, she was honestly surprised to see that she wasn't, in fact, on fire. She shut her eyes, squeezing them tight against the pain.

She felt him shift, and she reopened her eyes to see that he had knelt in front of her - looking up at her pleadingly. His expression - usually one of hatred, sorrow, or darkness - was instead a look of imploring desperation. Astonished, she reached out to touch his face. He grasped her hand in his, and placed a kiss against the palm of her hand. Kissed her palm like it would be the last time he ever did so. Kissed her palm as though his will alone would keep that from being true. His touch was warm - flush with the blood he had taken from her.

"Do not go…" he murmured against her palm.

She felt his mind, his soul. It rushed her like a river - cooler still against the burning pain than the freezing arctic air. Felt his emotion flood over her. Love, anger, the darkness that he would always be.

She clung to that, instead. If something was going to consume her, let it be his fire. And not the grave. She leaned down and kissed him - and he kissed her back, his hands tangling in her hair as he met her embrace.

It was then that her body - spent, exhausted - finally slipped. She felt the ground come up towards her, as his strong arms stopped her descent.

* * *

Isabel awoke with a start - and was suddenly very, very confused.

She was standing.

Somewhere.

Fuck all if she had any idea _where._

She was standing at the edge of a pool surrounded by columns. The room was a giant domed… structure. It looked almost like a greek temple - but far, far older. It reminded her of the temple she saw in Vlad's mind what seemed like a lifetime ago. The place where he had been made the first vampire - cursed with the blood of the first woman he had ever loved.

This place was just as old as that moment. A heartbeat younger than the king of vampires himself.

The walls soared upwards to a gigantic mural on a massive dome overhead. The mural was that of the castle - a sprawling panorama of pointed spires and visages of death and torture, all with Dracula at its center. Standing, resplendent in all his horror, king of the carnage around him.

 _Lest you forget. That is the monster to which your soul is now bound._

The words weren't hers - but they echoed in her mind like they were.

Looking down at the black pool at her feet - she realized that the liquid… wasn't black. Nearly, but just the barest hints of crimson reflected in the light. Oh. Now she knew where she was. Isabel let out a sigh. Great. "Hello," she greeted 'it.' Here, in her dream, she still had her voice.

Isabel took two steps back as the figure of Vlad - or rather, the castle's manifestation of him - formed from the pool of blood in front of her in mid-stride, stepping from the viscous liquid and stopping in front of her. White hair, dour expression, and the garbs of a king, in shades of red.

"I know," she responded to its comment. "I don't pretend to not know who - and what - he is." Isabel wanted to look up at the mural again - but didn't dare to, with the castle itself standing before her.

Vlad was capable of unspeakable evil. Isabel knew he was twisted - that the horrors she had seen in the castle, and the ones she _hadn't,_ were the product of his warped mind. He had killed countless thousands of people. He would do so again, one day.

And yet, one way or another… she loved him. God help her, she did. Just because he was all those things - didn't mean that it was _all_ he was. The king of vampires was far, far more complex than that.

"And if he were to wage war upon the living of the earth?" the castle spoke, glaring down at her, interrupting her train of thought.

"I'd council against it. I'd try to convince him otherwise. But the decision is his to make…" Isabel shook her head. "I don't want to _change_ him. I told you that. But this pointless, endless cycle of hate you're on isn't going to work. Do you even know what you _want_ anymore?"

"We wish for the master to be what he is _meant to be._ We seek to give him all that he wishes."

"Which is what, exactly?" Isabel folded her arms across her chest. She was sick of being intimidated. The figure of the castle's jaw twitched, as it sought for an answer it couldn't find. So she pressed the subject. "Tell me what Vlad wants. What he really _needs_ in order to be happy."

The castle straightened up, bristling at being caught in its own line of logic. It gripped the edges of its vest and pulled downwards, straightening the fabric, attempting to regain some manner of dignity. "... We have come to… apologize. Our threats were rash. Now, we must come to an understanding if we are to coexist in service to the master."

It said the words as if it expected her to burst into laughter. It glared, angrily down at her through Vlad's face, already anticipating her mockery. Instead, Isabel simply nodded, smiled, and held out her hand. 'Never meet and olive branch with a fist,' her adoptive mother had taught her.

"What do you mean by this?" It glared down at her hand. Not that it didn't know what a handshake was. That it didn't understand her easy acceptance of a ceasefire.

Isabel dropped her hand. "You are the product of everything he has ever done. You love him more than anyone will ever be capable of - even me. I'm bound to him by choice. You're bound to him… because you _are_ him. You were here before me, and you'll be here long after I'm gone." She reached her hand out to him once more. "Why would I want to get in the way of that?"

The visage of the castle watched her, darkly - observing her words and taking a moment to consider them. With a reluctant sigh, it couldn't find fault in them - but that did not mean it had to enjoy the situation they were now in. Jaw twitching once more, it placed its hand into hers.

Isabel woke up from the dream at that moment - and had to blink and shake her head as two versions of Vlad's face fought for supremacy. Like two tv stations broadcasted on the same channel. One, that of the castle's - and the other the one she recognized now almost as easily as her own. She was lying on the chaise lounge in his library, and she looked at him, confused, blinking.

"You fainted," he mumbled. He reached up a hand to touch her forehead, as if looking for a fever.

' _I can't imagine why,'_ she quipped silently in response with a faint smirk. She felt like she'd just run a marathon - every muscle ached. And no wonder.

Finally, his face broke into a grin, and he kissed her - joyfully. Ecstatic. His happiness was overwhelming and it hit her like a rolling wave. She found herself silently laughing, whapping her hand against his chest as he kissed her, again and again, holding her face in his hands. He was laughing as well.

She would have shrieked, if she could, as he picked her up from the lounge and spun her around once - in a moment of childlike joy that she was sure the ancient creature had not experienced in… at least a millennium or two.

Isabel's feet finally met the ground once more as he put her down, and she held onto his arms to keep from toppling over from the spinning. ' _Easy there, cowboy,'_ she said silently at him, still smiling herself. ' _Don't make me throw up on your nice flooring.'_

"Against _all odds,_ my little dove…" Vlad's hands were on her shoulders again, looking down at her in awe. "Against all, you have succeeded! We are bound… can you feel it?!" Isabel nodded, silently. Beneath the ache, she could feel… power. Humming through her, like an electric charge. He continued, a hand now cupping her jaw in his palm, watching her eagerly. "You are now safe from whatever that half-rate usurping ghost can dream of."

His lips met hers again in an eager, excited, passionate kiss. He held it for a long time, before she punched his chest lightly in a silent reminder she needed to breathe. He broke it with another low chuckle, watching her. "You shall not fall by his hand, nor any other's. Not while I exist upon this earth."

Isabel out a long breath, and let that sink in for a moment. ' _I"m going to live… for a long, long time,'_ she silently pointed out the obvious.

"Indeed," he smirked.

Isabel looked off for a moment, thinking. Letting it process. She then nodded, once, and looked back up at him - amber eyes to red once more, and smiled faintly. She felt, for the moment, optimistic. That eternity may not be so bad.

Perhaps he had expected fear - or regret. But he hadn't expected quiet acceptance. He picked up her hand, and laced his fingers into hers. She felt the charge that crackled between them - felt the power coursing through her, like she was part of a circuit.

No one had ever survived to become bound to Dracula's blood. God only knew what it meant for her. It was a long moment of standing there, in awe, feeling the buzz of the unnameable energy between them, before he finally released her hand and instead, cupped her face in his hands. He kissed her again, before gently parting. He straightened up, and resumed the mask of king. The moment of joy he allowed himself had passed. There was business to attend.

"Speaking of the half-rate ghost... " Vlad ran a hand through her hair, gently. "While I would much rather… savor the moment with you," he growled low in his throat, insinuation clear. "We have much still to do."

* * *

Isabel stood, leaning up against the wall of the castle, wearing the corset-gone-hoodie that Vlad had made for her. It felt much more natural her now, standing here, amongst the ridiculous decor. This was, after all, her home now.

Her _home._

She let that thought roll through her mind for a moment. She was not someone who ever really had a home. In her mind, where she 'lived' was just a place to sleep. Hell, she never even got a cat or anything for fear of it getting stuck unfed while she was out on a job with her friends. Hell, she felt bad for the neglected houseplants.

Her feeling 'safer' now - as Vlad's companion, having come to an accord with the castle - didn't keep her from tucking the silver dagger that Adrian had given her when they had met. The blessed blade that Lisa had originally given him. Wraith was dangerous - and she knew he had no qualms about hurting her.

But this, crazy, messed-up and possessed mind-fuck of a castle was now her home. She wondered how the other women in Vlad's life had done it. She thought about Lisa - and what she knew of her. The kindly woman of science, who wished to heal the townsfolk and better their lives. How could she live in a place like this, surrounded by such death? _She didn't do it for long,_ she observed. _Long enough for Adrian to be born and raised,_ she counter-argued to herself.

Speaking of Adrian, she looked over at a large door as it was pushed open from the other side, and a familiar figure strode through. The figure - ever seeming like a weeping angel statue amongst the gothic architecture around him, looked up at her, and did not respond for a moment. Then, he tilted his head slightly to one side. Isabel could feel his surprise, even though it didn't register on his face. "You have succeeded where the others have failed."

Isabel nodded once, and smiled faintly. ' _Looks that way.'_

Adrian's look of confusion and concern deepened. "Why do you speak into my mind?"

Isabel sighed, and shoved her hands in her pockets. ' _I can't speak aloud anymore. It's… a long story.'_

"My father's doing, no doubt," he replied with a darkening tone.

' _No - well, yes, but no. This is mostly my fault. I did this to myself, because of - nevermind. It's not important,'_ she gestured dismissively with a hand. ' _I'm getting used to it.'_

"If you insist..." Adrian walked down the hallway towards her. "Regardless - both my congratulations, and my sympathies, are yours. To be bound to my father is a… difficult future."

Isabel nodded, agreeing, and thanking him for his 'kindness.' Even if he did have a cold way of going about it. She knew 'life' from here on out would be difficult - that was never in question. Before, when she was not in the direct presence of the vampire, she couldn't feel him. Now, it was like he was always there, beside her in the shadows. But like losing her voice, she was confident she'd adjust.

A slight breath left Adrian in what could be considered a forlorn sigh. "You came to find me for a reason."

Isabel laughed to herself. So much like his father - straight to business. ' _Vlad wants to speak to you. He wants you to leave here, before we try to take down Wraith-'_ Isabel realized he had no idea who that was. Not really _. 'It's a long story. He doesn't want you potentially being in the crossfire. You leaving was contingent on you having a word with him.'_

Adrian watched her keenly - saying nothing for a moment, as if attempting to discern if she was speaking the truth or not. "Wraith is the spirit who possessed you, and now holds your friends hostage. Lyon spoke of him. He also spoke of what my father drove you to do."

Isabel sighed and shut her eyes. There was no small amount of her that was embarrassed. ' _Yeah.'_

"That is all you have to say?" Adrian asked with a slight arch to his eyebrow.

' _Pot calling the kettle black, much?'_ Isabel shoved her hands into her pockets. Some habits died hard - and even though she didn't need to 'hide' anymore, it still felt comfortable to try.

"Why did he send you? He could have sent anyone…"

' _I think he wanted you to see that I'm… bound to him now. I think he wanted to see that he has what he wanted. That he might be content for a time to stay here, and not wage war on mankind.'_

"We shall see," was his only reply. He gestured for her to 'lead on,' and so, she did. Turning her back on him, she walked down the hallway towards the door she had come through. Originally, that door had lead from Dracula's chambers. But now, she knew it'd lead somewhere else.

An arm snaked around her neck and yanked her backwards - sending her off balance. A voice whispered in her ear. " _Hey baby girl… Missed you._ "

Wraith.

The voice laughed - a sharp, maniacal laughter that sounded like an old horror movie villain. Her world dropped away out from under her as everything dissolved into mist.

* * *

The ground rushed up to meet her as the world reassembled around her. She hit the stone with a _thud,_ and her mind reeled to try and catch up. Someone had grabbed her - that someone had been Wraith. But who - how?

A hand on her shoulder rolled her over onto her back - and she looked up into the face of… Adrian. A face that was always stoic in its icy beauty. Now, it was twisted in a sinister, evil smirk. A smirk that she recognized - even if it had no business being on those features.

' _Oh no…'_ she shook her head, not believing what she was seeing.

"Oh yes," Wraith said through Adrian's voice as he knelt down, straddling her waist and pinning her to the floor. He looked down at her with a smile, and ran a white-gloved finger down her cheek. "Aren't you pleased? This body is the best I've had so far. Stronger, faster… sexier."

Isabel only had half a second to look around to see where he had brought them - some great hall of the castle, walls of black marble and white painted limestone. Tables and chairs dotted the walls. She was unable to register any more than that, as he tilted her face to look up at him with a finger.

He leaned down to kiss her, and she turned her head away again - pushing her hands against his chest, trying to stop him. She summoned all the loathing, all the disgust she could - and tried to push it onto him. Tried to force him to get off of her. He tsked down at her, shaking a finger. "Now now… I can feel you, in there - trying to control me. No dice. Not this time. Adrian's got too much self control to fall for _that_ little stunt."

He went down to kiss her again - and she slapped him, as hard as she could. If the other method wouldn't work - she at least could go that route. Wraith laughed hard, and leaned back. "Oh come on! You can't tell me you don't love the idea of getting it on with father _and son._ I mean, seriously - would you fuck me? I'd fuck me." He laughed at his more-than-a-little-fitting use of a movie quote.

Isabel glared up at him silently, and he pursed his lips in response. "What a face. So angry! I bet you thought, when I found you bound to Vlad - you'd think I'd give up. You thought I'd snap my fingers-" he did so, miming being disappointed, "say 'shucks,' and wander off on my own without you?! Bitch, please." Wraith snickered again, and pulled a knife out of his boot. He twirled it around his fingers with a deft skill, and without warning, jammed the knife into her collarbone.

Isabel screamed silently - arching her back, writhing in pain as the blade bit through her skin and hit the stone at her back, chipping the surface with the force. He laughed at her silent agony, and pulled the blade back out with a _shlorp_ noise as the blade pulled free of flesh and bone.

"Quite the opposite." Leaning down over her, he ripped the fabric away from the wound - tearing the cloth of her hoodie and her shirt easily. He watched the wound bubble up blood with a deep fascination. When he spoke, his fangs had extended. "This means… I get to do things like this, and _you'll be fine._ Ooh…" he purred, in a dark ecstacy. "This means you're my little doll… I can do whatever I want to you - however hard I want to do it - and _you'll bounce right back…_ "

He leaned down over her. "Adrian has a lot of self control, you know… but I can feel _just how_ _bad he wants to taste blood again…_ " He went to lower his head to the wound, and she felt his tongue press into the puncture mark, pushing into the cut. He moaned in pleasure, sealing his lips around the injury.

His self control snapped as he wrapped an arm around her, pressing her up against him as he pushed himself against her - digging his teeth into her skin as he fed. A low growl formed in the back of his throat, and she could hear him lapping at her blood like an animal at the fallen carcass of a deer.

She felt his mind against hers as he fed hungrily from her, like a starving man - felt the buzzing of the thousands of souls that comprised him, swarming around her like locust. They touched her like the wings of insects - too many at once to single any of them out. She felt a thousand thoughts all at once, like static on a television set.

Still, she tried to push him off of her - but it was pointless.

Isabel felt the wound close out from under him, stopping his feast. He growled in frustration as the source of blood closed. He sat back up - if even just by a few inches, to look down into her face, now hazy with blood loss. Even as her bond with Vlad healed her - it still took a lot out of her.

His eyes were clouded with bloodlust at the feeling of her esense pounding through his body. His lips were stained crimson as he spoke. "I love you… you must believe me. I really do," he said down to her, his voice husky. His fangs extended, and he went to drive them into her throat.

Isabel summoned her strength again and _pushed_ her disgust and revulsion against him. With her blood now in his veins - there was no resisting it this time. Wraith snarled and clambered off of her, flying up to standing and nearly tripping over himself as he pushed himself away from her. "No-" he moaned in dismay - in betrayal. Seeing his chance escaping him, he pressed his palms against his head, slapping them against his temples, trying to get her out of his mind. Trying to resume control.

Isabel sat up, and the world swirled around her. Isabel knew she couldn't stand. Not yet. Wraith had drank heavily from her - more so than Vlad ever had in one go. Wraith didn't care what happened - didn't care if he hurt her. Vlad had been far more careful.

But Isabel had a job to do.

She extended her hand, palm towards him - and forced her will against his again. Made him feel regret, grief, sadness. Made him want forgiveness, more than anything else in this world. Made him feel lower than dirt for what he had done.

Wraith, with Adrian's body, let out a mournful wail, and doubled over in pain. He sunk to his knees, looking at her wide-eyed in horror. He was barely two feet from her, but suddenly seemed so small and helpless. "Stop… please…"

' _Let them go,'_ she commanded. ' _Let my friends go._ '

"No," he moaned again, and put his head in his hands, and slammed the heel of his hand against his temple, snarling. "Stop, stop, stop! Get out!"

Isabel pushed harder. Made him loathe himself. Made him hate everything he had become. Everything he had done. Isabel mirrored the hate from what she had seen in the depths of Vlad's soul. The loathing. ' _Let them go._ '

"Forgive me, please…" Wraith begged. "Forgive me… get out of my head…!"

' _Let them go, and I'll forgive you,_ ' she promised him.

He looked up at her - hopeful expression pushing through the pain she was causing. He reached out towards her, longingly. Pleadingly. He knew she was probably lying. But it didn't matter. Right then, right there - all he knew was loathing for himself. Hatred. Pain. Loss. Shame.

Isabel reached her arms out to him in reply, and with a grateful sob he threw himself into her arms, head on her shoulder, like a child. Isabel didn't let up - she wouldn't, until he set her friends free. Isabel had one goal in this whole ordeal, and she would see it through - all the rest be damned.

His shadow swirled around them on the ground - and reached out behind him suddenly. Like a grotesque projection from some unseen source. It ran up the wall behind Wraith, and at that moment - Eric and Adam tumbled forth from the shadow like they had been dumped out of a moving car.

They both looked weak, harried - barely conscious. Unable even to register where they were, or what had happened. Isabel felt tears of relief spring to her eyes as she saw them - battered, but alive.

It was a roar of fire that took them both from the great hall where Wraith had taken them off to somewhere else, somewhere safe. The same roar of fire announced Vlad's arrival at the same time, standing behind Wraith where he knelt in Isabel's arms.

The sound of the flame was enough to snap Wraith back to reality. Her control over him was broken in that instant. He growled low, and she felt his arms around her tighten. Suddenly she was standing, her back pressed against Adrian's chest - one of his arms around her neck, squeezing hard enough to cut off her air.

Isabel gasped and grabbed at his arm, trying to make room for her to breathe. It took all her focus just to keep air flowing to her lungs - and that was entirely his intention. She couldn't force her way back into his mind, if she was too busy breathing. Wraith snarled angrily, and drove his fist into her side, and she gagged in pain as he did. "You _played me,_ you little bitch!" he yelled at her. "You knew _exactly what you were doing!_ "

"It was a clever ploy - to take my son's body as your own. You know you are safe within that form, as I will not tear you to pieces," Vlad said, as he summoned his long, dangerous sword from the ether and into his hand. It crackled with power as he held it - the tip just barely above the floor.

"You _let me_ take him-" Wraith laughed. "You let me do it - sent me _her_ to force me out of hiding! She let me drink her blood, so she could trick me into setting them free!" His mirth snapped in an instant and he squeezed her throat tighter for a moment, making her see spots in her vision. "I'm impressed." He released her throat just enough to let a barest scrap of air in, and she pulled it into her burning lungs. "You're such a good little liar, empath… Making me think I had you by surprise."

"It is impressive what she will agree to do, to protect those she cares about," Vlad said idly. "When I proposed this solution to our problem, she heartily agreed."

"You're going to _suffer_ for that," Wraith purred into her ear. "I promise."

"Taking possession of Adrian to catch me off guard, and use him against me - was only one option of many I saw before you. One of many options which I anticipated, and planned a riposte." Vlad stepped forward - and Wraith tensed, holding her in front of him like a shield. "You are clever. I will give you that. But you forget with whom you are playing - I am the commander of the army of the _damned._ I am the King of hell on earth. I am a tactician, above all. You cannot win."

Wraith grinned, and nuzzled his head into her hair. Even though he was afraid - she could feel it - he was _taunting_ Vlad. Hoping he could use Vlad's anger and protectiveness against him. "So what're you willing to lose? If I can't win, it's a matter of what I _take when I go down._ "

"That is the question," Vlad responded, taking another step towards them. "Your goal of seeing yourself - and Isabel - gone from this place, will _never_ be allowed to occur."

"See, here's the thing… I have two cards in my hand. Your son - which I _can_ kill - and your girlfriend, which I _can't_ kill, but boy, can I maim. I, myself, don't terribly much feel like dying." He snarled through clenched teeth. "Been there, done _that_ a few thousand times _."_

"What is your proposal?" Vlad asked, seemingly bored with Wraith's prattle.

"Here's how this goes. You let me kill you and this place comes down at the seams - I take her, and now that she can't die - thank _you_ very much - I drag her through this frozen wasteland to somewhere lovely and proceed to _fuck her up in every conceivable and possible way._ " For the first time, Wraith took a step back from Vlad - revealing that he was unsure of his standing against the vampire king. "But I'm not an unreasonable man. When you come back in a hundred years, you come find us - give me somebody new to drive around in lieu of your son, and I let them both go."

Vlad laughed - finding sincere humor in his proposition. "Even if your proposal were not absurd - am I to take you at your word? You think me so great a fool?"

"Not at all! Never said you were. I know I can't beat you in a fight. But I'm not leaving here without getting what I want out of her. She _made me._ She is _responsible_ for me. You take a dirt nap for a hundred years, and wake up like no time's passed. It's all the same to you. Meanwhile, I get a hundred years to cut my pound of flesh from her. I'll give her back to you in the same condition you left her. Well, more-or-less," he grinned, unable to keep his insinuation out of his voice.

Vlad's reply was a simple, immutable "No."

Wraith let out an exaggerated sigh and squeezed her throat _hard -_ making her gag and struggle in pain. He let up after a moment, letting her cough and gasp for air. A sharp reminder to Vlad that while she couldn't stay dead - he could kill her, over and over again. "Then quit wasting my time. I have your kid. I have your girl. What's your play?!"

Vlad sneered. "Me."

Wraith was caught off guard by that - for the first time found without words. "What?"

"You leave Adrian's body, and take mine instead."

' _No!'_ Isabel shouted silently at them both - struggling harder. This was madness! Even for him! ' _Don't you dare!'_

"Shush," Wraith wrenched her neck to the side, making it pop - clearly threatening to snap her neck to shut her up. "Let the man speak," he finished, intrigued. "Explain, exactly, why you're offering me this?"

"You say she made you. No. I am your true progenitor. That fountain that birthed your wasted existence was of my making. She would not have been placed within that stream of souls if it were not for my having put her there. Your creation is _my_ responsibility. Not hers." Vlad took another step forward. "You say you love her. I have no doubt you do, in so much as you are capable. As do I. Neither of us are the kind of man to _share._ The only way we will both be satisfied… is if we are one and the same."

"And it spares your boy," Wraith pondered aloud, thinking. He looked down at her, and smirked. "I wonder how you'll take it - when I'm stirring up your insides with the body you want _so much..._ " He purred into her ear. "I wonder if you'll still beg for forgiveness. I wonder if you'll still scream for me..."

"Enough," Vlad growled. "Do not test my patience."

"Psh, let a man have his fun, will you?" Wraith complained, and grinned at Vlad. "Fine. Deal accepted." Wraith dropped her to the floor, and Isabel fell to her hands and knees, coughing - a hand to her throat as she gasped for air.

' _Stop - please, don't do this-'_ she begged from the floor - unable to stand as her head swam from blood and air loss combined.

"You fight me, big boy," Wraith warned, holding a finger aloft. "And we'll have _serious problems._ " Vlad simply gritted his teeth, glaring at the figure of his possessed son before him.

"Get on with it," the vampire king replied.

It was then, that Wraith's shadow left Adrian's body and moved to Vlad's - the black blot descending on the vampire king's own. Adrian's eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he collapsed to the floor in a heap, unconscious.

Wraith had left Tim a soulless lump of flesh upon his departure. Isabel could only hope that he had not done the same to Adrian - that there was still something left of him inside.

Vlad snarled and gripped his head, his claws digging into his dark hair as Wraith's shadow invaded his mind. He thrashed, slashing out at someone who wasn't there, before he too, collapsed to the floor in a heap.

When Isabel finally managed to stand, she staggered over to the fallen vampire king. She knelt down at Vlad's side, and gently rolled him to his back. Panicking, she placed a hand on his shoulder, and the other against his cheek, and tried to shake his shoulder gently to wake him. ' _Vlad!_ ' she cried silently. Although you probably couldn't speak into a mind that wasn't conscious. Isabel sighed, frustrated for the first time at her lost voice.

Isabel shook him again - but it wasn't working. She wished she could shout at him - but knew nothing would happen. Tears stung her eyes again as she whapped her fist against his chest. ' _Wake up, you fucking moron, wake up!'_

She leaned down and kissed him desperately - kissed the idiot that she had fallen in love with. Kissed him, trying to wake him up, hoping that he was stronger than Wraith. Hoping he fought the possession and won.

Vlad didn't move. She broke the kiss after a long moment and sighing, put her head against his chest. She didn't know what else to do. She spent minutes like that, thinking, mind reeling and trying to come up with a plan.

This plan had been Vlad's idea - to test and see if Adrian was the man possessed. If so, she was to let him feed from her, to control his emotions. Then, she could convince him to free her friends. Isabel cursed herself loudly in her mind. When she had asked 'and then what?' Vlad had smiled and simply said 'I have a plan.' She hadn't pressed him hard enough for the answer. _God damn it_ she should have known it was something like this!

Vlad would have to be strong enough to overcome Wraith. There's no way the creature could win over the original vampire. Isabel could only pray that was true.

A hand was in her hair, stroking it once, before gently lifting her face up to look at him. Red eyes met amber, and she smiled, hopeful. ' _Vlad..?'_ she asked, silently.

He didn't respond, but watched her for a moment before running a sharp nail along her cheek, down to the edge of her lip. He leaned his head up to kiss her, a deep, and passionate kiss. Vlad's hand slid to the back of her neck, and pulled her closer to him. His tongue slid into her mouth, exploring hers, slowly. His other hand wandered to her side, and pulled her closer to him as he deepened the kiss. Isabel felt like putty in his hands as she kissed him back, her hand winding into the fabric of his vest.

Finally, reluctantly, he broke the kiss, and she felt his lips wander to her ear. He whispered to her gently, lovingly.

" _Hey, baby girl... Missed you._ "


	21. Chapter 21

**Alright, I lied. There'll be an epilogue to follow this chapter, posting shortly. :)**

* * *

" _Hey, baby girl... Missed you._ "

Isabel would have screamed if she could have. She tried to run - tried to flee. But it was pointless. He was too fast.

Her wrists were caught in his vice-like grip, as he stood up from the floor, taking her with him. The look on his face was one of madness - and _glee._ The red eyes of the vampire king were now flickering with excitement. It wasn't Vlad who was looking through them. Whether or not Vlad was still inside… Wraith was very much behind the steering wheel.

A roar of fire, and they were gone. Isabel felt the ground rematerialize beneath her feet. She yanked on her wrists to try and free them, and he let her go. Staggering backwards, she almost toppled over in her eagerness to get away.

"Oh that is just _too much fun!_ I think I could get used to this. Now now, don't try and run away… I know that's his little fetish, but it ain't mine." The words sounded absolutely ludicrous coming out of Vlad's mouth, especially with the light-hearted, yet sharply sadistic tone of voice that Wraith delivered them.

Looking around herself, she felt her face go pale at where he had brought them. It was the garden - the soaring, indoor atrium overgrown with vegetation that reminded her so much of the movie 'Jumanji.' If it had been set designed by Stephen King. Soaring smoked glass arched overhead in delicate, iron-wrought frames.

Statuary dotted the overgrown raised flowerbeds and winding pathways. Angels, figures of men and women, monsters and demons alike. Each one nearly overtaken by the vines and strange creeping flowers. One statue dwarfed the rest - a gigantic fountain, which dominated a circular clearing in the atrium. It was a statue that would haunt her nightmares until the end of her days.

The fountain.

The three angels - one, holding aloft a marble jug. Its features were worn, mossy, and forlorn. The other two, kneeling at its feet, hand their hands over their faces, like the weeping angels of a cemetery scene. Only they were missing a hand each - the ones that Adrian had severed to set her free from the torture that Vlad had put her through.

The fountain was empty now. The strange, mercury-esque silver liquid that had flowed through it was now gone. The fountain had emptied itself into her mind - and given birth to the creation that now stood in front of her, watching her with a keen fascination.

"Right back where we started, you and me. Right back at the beginning."

' _Take me away from here. Please,'_ she begged, unable to keep from glancing at the fountain that haunted her dreams. But she had two nightmares before her. One in marble, and one in the form of Vlad - possessed.

"I figured we might want some… privacy," Wraith said with a thin smile. "Although I'm betting the kid'll be out for some time." He took a step towards her, and she took one away. "Still, I didn't think you'd want me to have my way with you, with his unconscious body in the room."

' _You left him with his soul, then?'_ Isabel asked, hopefully.

"Yes, I did!" he said, throwing his hands up in frustration. He sounded like a child who had been asked if he had eaten his vegetables. "I couldn't very well take it, after the deal I made with Vladdy-boy, now could I?" He tapped a finger against his temple. "He's still in here. If I went and ate the soul of his boy - something tells me he wouldn't be so _obediently quiet."_

' _You're lying,'_ Isabel replied angrily. There was no way Vlad was simply sitting back and letting this happen.

"How else do you think I'm in control?" he laughed, and stepped towards her. Isabel retreated a step, and he grinned in response to her backing away from him. "Oh sure, I'm strong… _very_ strong. But he _let_ me in…" He stalked towards her again, and she took another step back. It made him laugh with a wicked grin. "You know, usually I hate it when you run away from me. But maybe it's his influence - this is _fun."_

' _Stop,'_ she raised a hand out, trying to slow him down. ' _Just stop.'_

Vlad lunged forward towards her - and she let out a silent shriek and toppled backwards, falling against a low stone wall. It was a raised flower bed, and the vines had long since overtaken the edges and spilled down over the ground. Her hand landed on a thorny branch, and she hissed in a breath in pain as she felt them puncture her skin.

Suddenly, he was standing in front of her - barely six inches away. She jumped in surprise, and tried to duck away from him. But he had taken her wrist in his hand again. Slowly, he lifted her hand up - and all attempts at yanking her hand away were pointless. She clenched her hand shut, but a small stream of blood ran down the palm of her hand and onto her wrist.

Vlad lifted her hand to his lips, and ran his tongue along the line of crimson, tracing its route. "Open your hand," he purred low in his throat. "Or I'll break your fingers to do it."

Isabel obeyed, knowing he meant it. She relaxed her hand, and watched as he used his thumb to gently open it. The thorns had put four neat holes into her skin - and he went to each one in turn. Isabel watched, finding herself rapt and unable to move as he wandered his lips along her hand, before reaching the last of the marks left by the thorns, this one on her pointer finger. As he took it into his mouth, his eyes slid shut in pleasure.

In that moment, it didn't feel like Wraith… The deep purr in his throat as he rolled his tongue around her finger. Her heart pounded in her throat. She couldn't help it. Isabel had always been hopelessly captivated to him - hopelessly unable to resist him.

 _You are mine._

She heard the words in her mind, and they didn't belong to Wraith. Isabel felt a moment of hope surge in her heart knowing he was still there - _somewhere -_ even if he was right now behind the scenes.

Isabel watched as the wounds on her hand healed themselves - and watched as 'Vlad' finally released her hand. It seemed she was more durable now than she used to be - for what good it was going to do her.

In fact, with Wraith's threats… it seemed like it was only going to cause her a lot of pain. She pulled her hand away from his grasp quickly, and tried to pull away from him. But trapped between him and the wall, there was nothing she could do.

Red eyes bored into hers - a glare that made her want to hide. A glare that spelt his clear intent to consume her. But there was a madness there, glinting at the edges, that Vlad had never had.

"I can feel him, right there next to me. He's quiet until I get near you… Until I touch you. Once I touch you, he surges forward." He ran the ends of his pointed nails of his other hand slowly along her collarbone, tracing where he had done the damage as Adrian only a few moments prior. The wound was gone - but the fabric was torn, and stained with blood. There was an undeniable hunger in his eyes as he watched her. "Shit. And here I thought _I_ lusted after you." He chuckled darkly. "You think I'm twisted? You think _I'm_ sick? I wish you could see what he wants to do to you. Maybe that's why he let me take control. Maybe he wants me to make good on those fantasies of his."

Isabel stayed silent, her jaw clenched, pressing back against the low wall of the garden. She looked up at him flatly. Trying to do her best to look unimpressed.

"No begging? No pleading? No crying?" He tilted his head to the side slightly as his eyes traced the path where his fingers ran. "I'm almost disappointed. I'd almost think you were enjoying this..."

' _What's the point..?'_ Isabel's mind was scrambling to come up with a plan - to see some way - _any_ way out of what had just happened. Some way around the fact that her worst nightmare was now possessing Vlad Dracula - the king of vampires. The man she was in love with. The creature who she was now _bound_ to.

"Ooh, now now… don't mope," He leaned in, and placed a finger under her chin, tilting her face to look up at him. "I told you… I'm saving you. This is me, saving you from the monster you got yourself all magically-or-voodoo-or-some-shit stuck to. Can't you see what he was doing to you? Can't you see that he abducted you and your friends and _tortured_ you?"

He grabbed her by the back of the neck and pulled her away from the wall suddenly - forcing her to face the fountain that stood fifteen feet away from them. He pushed her towards it, and she tried to press back against him, panicking.

' _No - please!'_

He let go of her neck, and let his arms snake around her, holding her against him as he stepped forward. Towards the fountain. She struggled hard, desperately trying to escape him. He shushed her, one of his arms shifting to pin hers to her side.

He stopped, five feet away from the fountain, and nuzzled his head into her hair. He lowered his lips closer to her ear, and whispered to her - his voice low. "You feel that terror? That fear? Do you remember what it was like to be in that fountain? To see all those deaths, all those murders, all that suffering? Over and over and over again…"

Isabel struggled still, pushing against him. But he squeezed her tighter, reminding her how useless it was. But she couldn't help it, she was panicking. ' _Please, let me go - please, I can't do this!'_

"I remember. I remember it all - every _second of it._ I know what it was like. I was there. I _was_ that pain and suffering. I _still am_ those memories, every waking second of all that horror! Only you understand what it means to be the way I am. To be the product of the things you remember. And only I know what it was like trapped in that fountain. Only I was there. _He_ did that to you. Don't you understand?!"

He took another step forward towards the statue, and she screamed, silently, and thrashed against him. Wraith whirled her around to face him, one arm still around her waist, keeping her from escaping him. Isabel slapped him, hard. His head rocked to the side, and he growled low in his throat. When he turned his head to look at her again - his eyes were crimson from lid to lid.

He snarled, and one of his hands gripped her chin like a clamp, and tilted her face to look up at him. "No. You'll listen to me - I swear to _fucking god_ you'll listen to me this time!" he said through his rage. "Do you think I want to be like this?! Do you think I asked for this miserable existence?! Can't you see he's done all this to you, to us?! Can't you see this is all _his fault?!_ " His hand slid to her throat and clenched, and her eyes went wide in fear and pain as he cut off her air. "Why won't you see what he's done to you?!" he howled.

Then he paused, and straightened up with a laugh, his hand relaxing against her throat, but not letting go just yet. "Sorry. He's still in here. The motherfucker gets mad _quick_ doesn't he?" Wraith snickered and rolled his shoulders back, stretching them. "Hoo boy. Talk about a hair trigger!"

Isabel always felt like she was left at the side of the road watching highway traffic whiz past her when she was dealing with Wraith. If Dracula was quicksilver, this man was a piece of dark matter blipping in and out of existence on a subatomic level. Before she could even wrap her head around what he had said, he had her by the hair and was dragging her away from the fountain and towards another low stone wall.

"He's also way too goddamn _tall-_ " Wraith complained as he picked her up by her waist - ignoring her struggling and slapping at his arm like she wasn't even trying - and sat her down on the wall. "-to carry on a conversation with you." He looked at her with a pleased smile. "There! Now I don't have to stoop like you're a freaking midget." 'Vlad' cracked his head to one side and the other, like he was trying to work out a crink. "Hurts my neck."

Isabel was overwhelmed and terrified. She hadn't even had a moment to try and process what was happening. The moment he let go of her, she tried to escape - tried to get away. But he was having none of it. He growled low in her throat, making his threat clear. If she kept it up - he'd break her legs, or worse. Vlad had only once ever struck her - but Wraith had no qualms about causing her serious pain.

Wraith looked at her, saw the expression of fear on her face and sighed. "I'm not _trying_ to scare you," he complained. "I'm really not… And I really wish you'd goddamn _talk to me!_ " The anger came back through his last three words - and he slammed his fist down on the edge of the stone wall next to her, cracking it, and making her jump. He glared down at his own fist and sighed again. "He's got a hair trigger, like I said. I'll get the hang of it."

' _I don't know what to say,'_ she admitted truthfully. She was shaking, watching him wide-eyed. ' _You've taken over the body of the man I love. I've spent the past few months trying to find a way to stop you. You've beat me, tried to rape me, threatened me - and now… this? What do you want me to say?'_ Tears stung at her eyes, but she managed to keep them from falling.

Wraith reached out with a hand and she flinched away from him. He paused for a moment with a sigh at her reaction, before continuing and running his hand through her hair. "Yeah. I know. I've been an asshole. But that was _before._ When I was fighting for you. When I didn't think we had time. Now that I have you, I'll be different... I promise. We can take our sweet time now, y'know? Nice and slow. We've got all the time in the world." An unfamiliar grin on familiar features. "I'll make you love me. Like he made you love _him_. You'll see. And I won't even need to torture you to do it, like he did." Wraith winked at her - and the expression looked ridiculous on him. "Well, maybe a little torture. But just for fun."

' _If I asked you to let him go. Is there even a price I could pay?'_

"Nope," he answered flatly with a shrug. "Not a chance. I'm possessing the body of a _demigod._ One that's mystically bound to you. One you can't escape, and one you already have the hots for? Fuck no!" He laughed, and reaching out, put his hands on her hips and pulled her towards him. She tried to shove him away, but it was like trying to shove a brick wall.

Before she could stop him, he was standing between her knees, smiling down at her like the cat who ate a canary. One of his hands slid to her thigh, while the other worked its way up the back of her shirt, resting his cool palm against the warm skin at the small of her back. "This is too nice to give up."

Isabel tried again to worm out of his grasp, but the hand on her thigh snapped to the back of her neck, tangling her hair in his fingers and holding her still. "No. You don't go _anywhere_ anymore. I know you _think_ you want to be saved. I know you _think_ this is hell and torment, but it isn't. He was manipulating you. I was trying to save your friends, save _you_ from _him._ Don't you get it?"

' _That isn't true,'_ she slammed her fist against his chest, but she knew it wouldn't do anything. ' _Vlad loves me.'_

"I'm not saying he doesn't! But he's a sick fuck, and he kept you prisoner and tortured you - and did _just what I'm doing now_ until you loved him! It's Stockholm Syndrome. I know you can't see it now, but you'll see it soon. I promise."

' _He never tried to rape me, asshole,'_ she glared up at him.

"He didn't have to! He manipulated you into wanting him. He seduced you. Same thing - just the slow play tactic that I didn't have a chance to use." Wraith said with a shrug, smirking down at her again. He still had his hand tangled in her hair. The fingers of the hand at the small of her back began to run in slow, careful circles along her skin. She twitched despite herself. "See? Just like that…"

Isabel glared up at him. ' _Stop.'_

"No," he replied, and leaned into her, letting his lips fall against her neck just below her ear. He kissed his way along her jaw, slowly - savoring the moment. Using the hand in her hair, he yanked her head back and made her gasp in pain - and took the opportunity to kiss her parted lips. It was a possessive, hungry, selfish and careless embrace. It lacked the finesse the vampire king made seem so effortless.

If Isabel could have made a noise of protest, she would have. There was literally _nothing_ she could do to stop him. It made her realize exactly how powerless she had always been in Vlad's presence. How easy it really would have been for him to take whatever he wanted from her. Wraith's words burned in her mind, despite her not believing them. Vlad manipulated her. Tortured her. Made her love him. Isabel knew she loved Vlad, there was no doubt of that But the vampire king himself had admitted that he had pursued her with that goal in mind.

Wraith's argument was that the intention behind the act invalidated the truth of it. That she loved him - but it was a false love. Stolen, not earned.

His lips worked against hers still, his tongue delving down slowly, exploring her. Taking his time. The hand at her lower back pulled her closer still, until their bodies were touching. The nails there ran up the skin of her back slowly - causing her to arch and push her palms against his back as a chill ran up her spine.

He broke the kiss slowly with a quiet laugh at her reaction. "You can feel it, can't you? How much I want you… how much I love you. You're an empath. No wonder he could seduce you. If you can feel how _hard_ he wants to have every part of you…" his innuendo was obvious as he pulled her body against his again, and she shut her eyes, turning her head away. This was too cruel. "How could you fight it? The only man who could ever touch you - who could ever _love_ you. The only man who would ever _try_."

' _Stop,'_ she begged silently. ' _Please..'_

"I can see all his memories now. Just like I could see Adrian's. And Tim's. And every scrap of dead soul from that fountain. I can see Tex. That poor asshole never got his chance with you, huh? Too scared. Through Vlad, your friend is here with me, now, too…" Wraith moved his lips to her ear, and bit the lobe, just hard enough. Isabel writhed and slammed her fist against his chest, trying still to push away the brick wall. He let out a low 'mmmh' in his throat at her reaction, and she could tell how much he was loving her struggle for freedom. That he was relishing the fight between her own mind and his control over her body. "That's it… Just like that, baby girl..."

He slid the hand on her back around to her stomach, his nails leaving raised red tracks against her. Isabel twitched again, and tried to pull away - but the hand in her hair kept its tight grip on her, craning her head back. Keeping her close to him. "There's no one to stop me now," he purred into her ear, before grazing his teeth lightly against the skin again. "No one to save you…"

That made her redouble her efforts, slamming her fists into his chest and struggling. It got the reaction he wanted, and he pulled his head back with a laugh. The hand that had made its way to her stomach was now grasping one of her wrists. He yanked it behind her back harshly.

Isabel's eyes went wide and she let out a startled cry as she felt something _else_ grab her wrist. Something wound its way around her like a rope, and it was pulling her wrist back against the bed of vines and vicious flowers.

He let go of her with a pleased, cruel smile. "The castle obeys its master."

Isabel thrashed, her other hand going to the bound wrist to free it. She tried to roll over to face the tied hand, but she wasn't fast enough. Trapped with him standing between her knees, she was unable to escape as he snatched her free hand by the wrist and yanked that, too, behind her back. He laughed hard, watching her struggle in vain as the vines wrapped around her again, trapping that hand with the first.

Isabel kicked and fought, wishing she could make more noise than a silent scream as the vines wound their way in between her fingers, around her wrist and up to her elbows. The vines were taking their _sweet time_ as they cinched around her. The harder she struggled, the tighter they became. Like a python. Waiting for her to tire, waiting for her to give up an inch before pulling her closer down. It felt like quicksand.

Wraith seemed more than happy to stand there and watch, smiling a sick, gleeful grin. His hands were pressing on her knees, now - keeping her from kicking him, as the vines did their job.

Pretty soon she was on her back against the vines below her - her arms wound up hopelessly behind her back. As she struggled, tossing her head from side to side, trying to fight, she felt their thorns dig into her skin, drawing blood like they had before. Tears pricked her eyes and she cried out silently in the pain as they punctured her skin with her struggles.

With Wraith looming over her, in the body of the man she loved - and now this, she couldn't help it. The tears ran along her face and into her hair. Wraith tsked again down at her, and leaned over her slowly, propping himself up on one elbow as he lowered his head down to her face. He kissed one of her tears away.

Isabel turned her face away from him and that drew a low chuckle from him. His mouth was against her ear again, and his voice was a deep, baritone purr. "He's wanted to do this to you since the moment you met… All Vlad wanted to do in this world was to hunt you like a deer and _take_ you. But he's a patient man… and knew that would only harm his end goal. But now, he's watching this with as much pleasure as I have doing it."

' _Stop it-'_ she struggled harder, but let out a silent cry as the thorns dug trenches into her skin as she did. They forced her to stop - it hurt too much to continue.

"You know I'm not lying."

He straightened back up, and stepped in until his thighs touched the stone wall. She felt his hands wander along her shoulders, pulling her torn clothing further apart, baring more of her chest and shoulders. She twitched, thrashed, and cried out again in silent pain as the thorns dug in deeper. "Now now…" he scolded. "Calm down before you hurt yourself." His words held no small sense of irony.

His fingers wandered down her chest, and began to undo the laces of her top. Isabel turned her face to look at him - eyes wide and unbelieving as he pulled the laces out, one by one, until the thread was gone. He tossed it aside, and moved the fabric apart to reveal her tank top beneath.

The look on his face was heated, dark, impassioned and hungry. There was no stopping him. No begging that would make him change his mind. Her stomach flipped in fear and, truthfully, something else entirely as he gripped the collar of her tanktop and ripped the fabric in two. He snapped the small piece of fabric holding her bra together in the center, and finally completed his task of reaching her bare skin.

Wraith let out a low moan in his throat as he ran his hands slowly up her stomach, along her sides, up to cup her breasts. He kneaded them in his hands, squeezing them, watching his work with a rapt, unbreakable focus. "I wish you knew… how I've waited for this… how much I've _needed_ this." When his red eyes darted to hers, she looked away, trying to mask what was happening to her in a face of indifference. He laughed, and suddenly pinched both of her nipples hard between his fingers. Isabel arched her back, her mouth open in a silent cry. "There you are… I thought I lost you for a minute," he said with a dark humor.

His head lowered, and he replaced the fingers of one hand with his lips, swirling his tongue around the tormented skin before taking it into his mouth, letting his teeth graze along it. His other hand ceased its abuse and he ran his thumb around the pink nub of flesh slowly.

Wraith began to kiss his way up her chest, up her neck and to her ear. He let his teeth graze her skin again before whispering to her. "I can hear your heart pounding. I can feel how much you want this… just as badly as I do. You can't hide it. You've wanted to be _his_ since the moment you met… since the first time he laid eyes on you. I'm just along for the _ride,_ " he said with a bad pun. He grinned. "Honestly, I'm alright with that. You're loving being at my mercy. At _our mercy._ Admit it…"

' _Stop,'_ she begged again, turning her face to look at him - amber eyes to red, pleadingly. ' _Please stop this…'_

"Tell me you don't want this - tell me you aren't on _fire_ right now. Tell me that, and I'll stop…" _Say the words, and I will relent._

Isabel's eyes went wide as she heard Vlad's voice echo in her mind. Wraith and Vlad, both - hovering at the surface. Drawn into the moment. Her eyes searched his, feeling the hunger… the starvation they both had. The need to feel her, taste her. It was hopeless, begging _either_ of them to stop. Vlad would have - but Wraith… he was far too cruel, far too starved to ever turn away.

And she couldn't tell him no. She could say the words, but they would be a lie. One her body couldn't hide. Isabel let out a silent sob, one that was cut off by Vlad's lips as he kissed her with an unwavering, unstoppable desire. She would forever be _his._ There was no longer any point denying it.

Isabel shut her eyes, and let him kiss her. Didn't turn her face away as he parted from her finally, feeling his cool air on her lips as he hovered his face an inch from hers. This is what Vlad and Wraith _both_ wanted… she could feel it, beneath the surface.

He straightened up, and she felt him quickly make work of the rest of her clothing, the cool air of the room suddenly against her bare skin. But it didn't stay that way for long before his hands took the place of her clothing, and ran slowly up her legs. One remained on her thigh while the other ran, fingers splayed, across the skin of her stomach. She could feel the touch of the fabric of his coat against her legs as he stepped in, his thighs touching the edge of the stone wall.

She writhed underneath his touch, tensing against her will as he ran a sharp nail up the inside of her thigh. Wraith laughed - a dark, playful, sadistic laugh as he stood there between her parted knees, watching her react to his touch. This was all he had ever wanted - her, at his mercy. And now he had just that. She was unable to fight, unable to even cry out for help as he ran his fingers along her skin, savoring the moment.

Isabel opened her eyes to watch him - standing there as both her horror, her nightmare, and her lover. "What a look," he murmured, his hand going to her face, thumb running along her lower lip. He leaned down to kiss her again. This time, when he parted his lips from hers, he shifted against her - and her eyes went wide as she felt him positioned against her core.

' _Wait-'_ she begged, and struggled, anew. But the vines around her arms, and their thorns in her skin, stilled her attempts.

Wraith ran his fingers along her cheek, gently touching her skin in slow circles, watching her keenly… hungrily. A mad joy in the red eyes that didn't belong to him. "I've wanted this… so much… _so much…"_ His other hand was on her upper thigh, holding her leg bent, holding it still, as he pressed there against her - waiting. "Look at me," he whispered to her.

Her eyes met his again, and he smiled. It was a sick, sadistic expression, filled with love and adoration. "I love you," he whispered. In his own way, he meant it. In as much as he was capable, he did love her. And with that, he pressed into her, and she arched her back against his chest, her mouth open in a silent cry as he filled her. Pressed hard into her to the hilt.

He nearly roared in pleasure, his hand tangled in her hair as he felt her hot body around him. Their minds were tangled up together as he entered her, and he could feel her fear - her desire. And she could feel his hunger - his need. His sick, truthful expression of love. Beneath that, the man she loved - hovering at the edges, the vampire king… vying for control. Twisted up in this madman's desires. No small part of the vampire was loving this, just the same as the monster in control.

Wraith began to move against her, a tempo that was neither gentle, nor violent. He seemed lost in his own ecstasy as he wrapped her legs around his waist. Each press into her, each movement, ground her body against the vines at her back, and brought her both pleasure and pain at the same time. She silently whimpered as he buried his head into her neck, moaning against her skin, kissing it, worshiping it. This was joy. This was true, unbelievable ecstasy to him. This is the only desire he had ever known. Finally fulfilled.

"So warm… Your body is so warm… this body is _so cold…_ " he said through a pleasured moan without breaking stride. He snaked a hand around her throat, and squeezed. She arched her back against him, and gasped - and he laughed low, barely a rumble in his chest. "You clench tighter when I do that, you know…"

Her heart was pounding in her ears as he filled her, pressing hard against her before withdrawing nearly entirely, before starting again. She was gasping in short breaths in time with his thrusts into her body. Wraith wasn't violent in his actions - he didn't hurt her. He seemed too overwhelmed with what he was feeling, their minds tangled as their bodies were.

He ran his lips to her throat, and suddenly he pulled her head to one side. His hunger was all-consuming. He lacked Vlad's self-control - he lacked his restraint. Wraith was unable to handle the anger, the _hunger_ , and the lust that burned away within the vampire.

His fangs pierced her neck, and she pulled in a sharp, wavering gasp as he did. He moaned loudly against her skin, tasting her hot blood as it filled his mouth. Tasting her heartbeat, thrumming in time with his motions.

The pain of the bite faded into a pleasure that washed over her, with the throb of her heart, and now his, joining in the same eternal dance. He fed from her for a long time, like that - lost in the pleasure of her body, her blood. Pulling from her body in time with the drum of her heart. With the tempo of his body moving against hers.

An arm beneath her knee, and she noiselessly cried out as he shifted to better his angle - his movements becoming harder. More insistent. He was drinking too much from her - more than Vlad ever had. It wouldn't kill her… and Isabel wasn't sure if she was glad for that. But he was losing control over the vampire's impulses.

He sank his teeth harder into her throat - and she winced in pain as he pierced her flesh with both rows of teeth like an animal - growling loudly into her skin as he drank. She felt the hot liquid spill around the edges and down her neck into the vines beneath her.

He slammed into her once - twice - and her mind went hot white as she arched against him, feeling their pleasure combined as he tipped over the edge, and brought her with him.

The world faded to darkness as she felt her body, limp against him and against the vines - give in to being bled dry.

* * *

Isabel awoke with a start - or did she? It took her a long moment to realize wherever she was now, she had been once before. She stood in a victorian parlor - with carefully painted, beautiful wallpaper. It depicted a lavish garden scene, with marble archways and bridges, columns and statues. The sun had set - and now the ruddy sky was turning blue and purple in lieu of reds and orange.

Gas lamps burned low against the walls. A brass chandelier hung overhead, candles unlit.

A piano was quietly playing from the other half of the room, the sliding divider half-drawn, painted to match the walls.

This was Vlad's dream. The memory where they had first truly met, face-to-face. 'Run and let me chase you' - he had said. And, she had…

Isabel stood up from the blue and gold damask upholstered sofa as she let herself walk across the thick, lush carpet. He said this was the moment he had fallen in love with her - the moment he had seen her, innocently blundering into his mind.

So much had happened since then.

She walked around the divider between the two halves of the room - and saw him, sitting at the baby grand in the same way she had seen him the very first time. He was playing the same, slow, Beethoven piece, and seemed not to notice her.

Was this just a memory?

Isabel walked up to the piano, as she had done that first time. Then, she had wondered aloud who he was. But now, she knew. Now, there was no question of who he was. Vlad Dracula, and so much more. The first vampire - an ancient creature from the dawn of time. The monster, the man, the creature she loved. No matter how she had come to do so, it didn't matter.

Isabel let her hand reach out to touch him, just as she had before. THen, she had meant to gently touch his shoulder, but never got the chance, before his hand had snapped to her wrist. Her hand hovered, waiting - and she held her breath for a moment to see if he would move. If he would react to her, as he had then.

Nothing. Her heart fell as he continued to quietly play, ignoring her presence. Maybe he was a ghost, truly. Just an empty memory, playing back like a DVD. Maybe what she had felt, when Wraith had made love to her, was all that was left of the man she adored.

Isabel shifted closer to him, and leaned down to place a kiss against his cheek.

Her eyes opened in surprise as his lips, instead, met hers. His hands upon the keys had stopped, and instead one was gently cupping her cheek. His other wound around her, pulling her closer into an embrace. She let him lead her towards him, and wrapped her arms around him, almost crying in relief. He _was_ still there.

"Was there any doubt?" he asked her with a faint smile against her skin, as he broke the kiss. "My little dove… My resilient, unbreakable one."

She hugged him close to her, squeezing him tight - causing him to laugh quietly. "You son of a bitch, you asshole-" she swore at him, even though she was still hugging him to her like she would never let go. "You knew, you _knew_ this would happen!"

"No. But I knew that it might," he responded, turning on the piano bench to face her, pulling her into his lap. "Forgive me, for what has happened." He kissed her on the forehead, before looking down at her with forlorn red eyes. "Forgive me for leaving you to his... machinations."

"Forgive you for _enjoying it,_ you mean," she glared at him.

He smirked idly down at her and raised an eyebrow. "And you did not?" Her face flushed and she slapped his chest, and he laughed hard, and hugged her to him again. "Forgive me for the darkness in my soul, then, yes. Believe you me, there were far worse things he wished to see done. I… tempered him, as best I could. He is ill prepared for what he has truly done. Thousands of years of experience is all that I have, to stave off the horror I hunger to see unleashed."

The subtext was clear. If Wraith wasn't stopped, he'd lose control of the power that Vlad commanded. All hell would, literally, break loose. She let her hand run through his dark hair, and he shut his eyes, basking in the sensation. "What do I do..? How do I fix this?" she asked, quietly.

He kissed her, gently, cold breath against her skin as he broke the kiss slowly. She felt the dream fading, but heard his last words before she woke.

"I must be stopped…"

* * *

Isabel woke, and honestly, wished she hadn't.

They were in Vlad's chambers. She was lying on the chaise lounge in his library - wearing clothes she didn't remember. Wraith must have dressed her. Vlad - or at least, his body - was over her. He had her arm raised - one of his hands at her wrist, the other just below her elbow, holding her as he dug his teeth into her skin.

She cried out silently in pain, her eyes stinging as he dug his teeth cruelly into her skin, biting down hard against her flesh as he was drinking her blood like a dying man would drink water.

' _No - please,'_ she begged, trying to push him off of her.

"You won't die," he lifted his head from the wound, which had far exceeded a simple pair of puncture wounds. It was like a wolf had been chewing on her arm, the bites were so deep. He looked at her, eyes red from lid to lid, consumed by his hunger. "So stop whining…"

He bit down on her arm again, a new wound this time, trying to open a fresh vein. She writhed in agony, shaking her head and trying to get him _off_ of her. But she was too weak. To empty to really put up a fight.

A cough by the wall interrupted him. Vlad lifted his head from her arm, his lips stained with blood, and he turned a glare towards the wall. "I thought I made it clear, we are _not to be disturbed."_

A vampire she didn't recognize stood by the door, and bowed low at the waist. "My lord, forgive me. You said that you were not to be disturbed, yes - unless it was matters involving your son. He is in the throne room with the priest Lyon, sir.. He is demanding to see you."

Wraith sighed, heavily, and dropped her arm. She gripped it in her other hand, curling up in pain. The skin had been torn, ravished, and while it was slowly healing, it _hurt_ unlike anything he had ever done to her before.

"Sounds like something he'd say," Wraith muttered under his breath. "Very well," he said louder. "I will be there momentarily."

The vampire bowed low again at the waist, and vanished in a swirl of mist.

Wraith sighed deeply again, looking down at her, his eyes clearing to their normal red. The bloodlust put on pause for the moment. He turned her face towards his, and he smirked down at her. "Let's go chat with the kid, shall we? You're going to come with. You're going to pretend like everything's _normal._ Like Vladdy-boy is still in the driver's seat, and you're as happy as can be. Or I'll fucking tear them to shreds, and fuck you on top of his lifeless corpse, understand?" he snarled at her, anger consuming him.

Isabel's eyes were wide in horror and she nodded, weakly. He was losing control. Vlad had said as much - and it was clear that Wraith was going to become incapable of commanding the power the vampire controlled. He stood up from her, straightened his clothing, and wiped at his face with the back of a hand, cleaning the blood off of his chin.

Isabel managed to sit up, swinging her legs over the side of the chaise lounge, looking down at her arm as the mauled skin began to heal. ' _I'll need to clean up,'_ she observed, watching as the vampire paced around the room like an anxious tiger. ' _Otherwise they'll suspect something.'_

"Fine," he grumbled and walked from the room, leaving her alone. She stood up, and saw the silver dagger that Adrian had gifted her, sitting on a table nearby. She picked it up, and tucked it into her belt. Walking from the room, she went to the bathroom, and did as she'd said she would - washing the blood off of her arm, and doing her best to straighten herself out.

When she felt like she looked… moderately presentable, she walked out of the room, and up to Wraith - feeling like she was stepping closer to a rabid animal. When he looked at her, she flinched, her steps faltering.

Wraith grabbed her wrist, and yanked her towards him - and she half-fell against him. He wrapped an arm around her, and his lips crashed against hers in a cruel, uncaring embrace. When he broke it, the world around them roared in a jet of fire. A second later, they were in the throne room - standing at the top of the stairs that lead to the sculptured throne itself.

He released her wrist, if to slide his hand around her waist in what must have looked like a casual, gentle embrace.

Standing at the foot of the stairs was Adrian, and Lyon, a step behind him. The priest's hands were clasped behind his back, and he was watching them both with a flat, emotionless expression. Adrian wore similar, except his eyes were narrowed just slightly in suspicion.

"My son," 'Vlad' said in greeting. It was impressive how good Wraith was at impersonations. When he had pretended to be Tim, or Adrian - she couldn't tell. "Priest," he said, finally acknowledging the other man.

"I wished to see that you were… intact, before I departed this place," Adrian spoke after a pause, choosing his words carefully.

"And whyever would I not be so?" 'Vlad' responded with a slight smirk. The hand around her waist moved to settle on her shoulder. To them, it was meant to be an affectionate gesture. To her, it was a clear reminder that she was to behave herself.

"The spirit who had taken possession of my body - the one calling itself 'Wraith,' was a formidable one. I can clearly recount that you intended to let it take your body in exchange for mine."

"Yes. I did, and I defeated it readily," Wraith responded with an idle and dismissive shrug.

Adrian said nothing in response. But she could feel that neither he, nor the priest, believed Wraith's facade.

Preternatural creatures like vampires - could move faster than she could see. And chaos happened quickly. It wasn't until later, that you could really start to piece together what had happened.

The next thing she knew, the floor had rushed up to meet her, as somebody threw her to the ground. She covered her head with her hands as the sound of metal meeting metal rang out painfully.

The fight was fast - too fast for her to track. She managed to stand - managed to duck out of the way, beside the throne. It was a two way fight, between Adrian and Lyon versus Wraith, in the body of a vampiric demigod. One he could barely control.

That was perhaps the only thing that gave the two other men a fighting chance. Wraith was fast to learn - hurling fireballs from nothingness and summoning dark shadows to fight for him. But the priest and Adrian were holding their own.

At least they were… for a time.

Adrian met a column hard enough to send him _through_ the structure - and his body was now crumpled against the wall. Vlad pulled his punches, when fighting with Lyon and Adrian in prior bouts. Wraith felt no such compulsion.

Wraith's sword punctured the abdomen of the priest, and sliced upwards - threatening to cut the man in two.

' _Stop!'_ Isabel reached out with her power - and halted Wraith from delivering the death blow. Made him feel regret, disgust, sorrow. He retracted his sword from the man's body, and she watched as Lyon crumpled to the floor. Beaten, bloody - but not dead.

"Be careful, you little bitch-" Wraith said as he turned around to face her. "You're playing with a very, _very_ angry man right now…"

Wraith stalked towards her. Time was once she would have cowered in fear at the sight of the angry vampire king, approaching her with his sword drawn, and dripping with blood.

' _I'm sorry,'_ she said, raising her hands to show that she meant no more harm. ' _I'm sorry, I won't do that again. But please… I can't watch you kill them.'_

Wraith sighed as he walked up the stairs, his sword vanishing from his hand. He glared down at her, anger seething at the surface. "I'm going to. They know it's not Vlad in control - I can't let them walk out of here, and warn _everyone else._ "

Isabel shut her eyes for a moment. She had a choice. But like all the choices she had laid out before her in the past few months - they were all a facade. She never really had an option, not in any of this. In that split second, she made up her mind.

Isabel walked up to him, willingly, of her own accord. She put her hands on his chest, gently - resting them there in an embrace. He looked down at her with raised eyebrows, shocked that she touched him of her own volition. ' _I'll make a deal with you.'_

"Oh..?" he said with a sly smile. "What game are you playing?"

' _We leave here. You and me. This place can be left alone for a long, long time without Vlad. Maybe you're right. Maybe he was manipulating me. Maybe away from here, I'll find out if that's the truth. Maybe away from here, I can give you a chance.'_

"You're lying."

' _I'm not. You know I'm not. We're bound to each other's blood. You can tell if I'm telling a lie.'_ The words left her easily, unfaltering. Yes, she was lying. And lying about that, as well. Her gift as an empath made her exceptional at spinning a tale. And he so very much wanted to believe her. Telling a lie that another wanted to hear was the secret to not being discovered. ' _I want to try. I want to leave here. I hate this place…'_

"Saves me having to keep up the illusion," Wraith said thoughtfully, with a small 'hmn' noise in his throat. "I assume you want me to leave everybody here 'in tact.'" He glanced a glare backwards at the two unconscious men on the floor.

Isabel nodded in response. ' _That's the deal. My friends, Lyon - Adrian - everybody. You leave them alone. Do that… and I promise I'll try to love you.'_

Wraith's face split into a joyful smile, and he reached down and scooped her up into a hug, lifting her off the floor. He put her back down, hands moving to rest on her shoulders. "You won't regret this!" Wraith's happiness turned into a playful smirk. "Seal it with a kiss?"

Isabel blinked, and took a moment to think it over. She nodded, and looked up at him with a faint, nervous and uncertain smile. Anything more would seem fake. She needed to play this off as if it were legitimate.

God, she was a good liar.

Wraith leaned down - and she kissed him. One of his hands slipped to her lower back to hold her closer to him. His lips were cool against hers. She kissed him back - wrapping one arm around behind his neck, pulling him close to her. Wraith or not, somewhere in there was the man she had come to love. Somewhere in there was the man to which she felt as though she was saying goodbye. Begging forgiveness.

His body twitched against hers. She felt him shift, felt him break the kiss as he looked down at her, and saw a glimmer of the man she knew. Buried somewhere within.

Two expressions fought for purchase on his face. One of shock and betrayal - another of acceptance. Of love. "Well done, little dove…" Vlad spoke through the madness, and leaned down to kiss her.

She met it, one hand wrapped in his vest, the other… was wrapped around the hilt of the silver dagger that had belonged to Adrian. Now, instead of a sheath of leather, it was a sheath of flesh and blood. She had driven it into his side - between two of his ribs. It was a needle-like blade, and it had gone into him without any real resistance.

It was a blessed blade, Adrian had said to her once. One that Vlad had made for Lisa - to end him, if the need arose. And right now, she had that need.

Vlad finally broke the kiss, and took a staggered step backwards. Isabel went to help him, but he lashed out at her, claws raking towards her as if to tear her apart, making her stagger backwards. " _You traitorous cunt!"_ the words were Wraith's. One hand gripped the blade, and yanked it out, tossing it across the floor. But the damage had been done. Blood was pouring from the wound, soaking his clothes and beginning to pool on the floor. Both hands then went to his head, gripping his hair as if to tear it out. "Shut up, shut up, _shut up!_ "

The castle around them rumbled once, as if in an earthquake. Isabel remembered the conversation she had with Lyon about what became of the castle, when Vlad died. It crumbled to dust - but became trapped in a nether-realm, dreamlike and removed from reality.

Isabel hadn't taken a moment to consider what would happen to her, when the building fell. If she would die, or if she would be taken along with it. She was bound to Vlad. But now, Vlad was vying for control of his own body.

Vlad collapsed onto the steps that lead up to the throne, one hand still pressed against his side.

Isabel took another step back - but two hands on her shoulders stopped her. Looking up - it was Adrian. He looked as if he had just been hit by a truck - and he basically had. He looked at the figure of his father. With two minds, fighting for the space of one.

' _He had to be stopped…'_ Isabel winced, watching the man she loved lay there, dying.

"You did the right thing," Adrian replied quietly. "It is not easy to destroy those we love," he added after a pause. Isabel looked up at him, realizing that he spoke of himself. That somewhere, he too, cared for his father.

"I will take him to the grave with me," Vlad growled through clenched teeth. He let out a pained cough and leaned back against the stones. The hand that held his wound was crimson, and wet. "Shut _up_ you piece of shit, you won't-" Wraith snarled, fighting still for control of Vlad's body.

Isabel watched as his shadow tried to split in two - as Wraith tried to fight for freedom - to escape to Adrian, or Lyon, or who-knows-who. But it could not get free. Vlad was making good on his threat. He would not let the ghost go free once more.

"Go, Adrian - leave here," Vlad coughed, snarling in pain as he fought both physically, and mentally, to stay above the surface of the darkness that was rising to claim him. Isabel felt tears fall down her cheek as she moved forward. But Vlad raised a hand to stop her. "Take her away from here. She should not share in this cruel grave of mine. I will see you when I return, little dove..."

Isabel watched, in pain and horror as he laid his head back, and went still. The ground lurched under their feet as the castle rocked beneath them. The sound of the parapets falling and crumbling could be heard, shattering glass as windows began to crack and splinter.

"Come," Adrian took her hand to lead her away.

' _I can't-_ ' she silently replied, tears streaming down her face. ' _I can't leave him.'_

"You will meet again…"

* * *

Vlad was dying.

It was not the first, nor the last, he would do so. Somehow, more often than not, he found himself here, on the steps of his throne, bleeding his lifeblood out onto the stone. Irony, perhaps. Fitting, definitely. That a king die upon the symbol of his grandeur.

The spirit had fallen quiet. Whether or not he would remain so - now, or after his resurrection - would remain to be seen. He would drag that cursed spirit down to the grave with him. What remained of him when he awoke, only time would tell.

He had sent them both away. His son - his love. Two creatures he could not stand to see trapped in this netherworld, trapped within the castle's walls while it waited in its ghastly limbo for him to awaken.

And so, he shut his eyes, and waited to die.

He was drifting, in and out of the waking world. In his dream, he felt her hands, gently against him, cradling his head in her lap. In his dream, she was stroking his hair, gently away from his face. In his dream, he was not dying alone, for the first time in all his many aeons of unlife.

He reached a hand up, in his nearly feverish state - reaching up to touch the phantasm of the woman he had come to love so dearly. He knew his hand would pass through air. That the coldness of death was all there would be to greet him.

Vlad's eyes fluttered open in surprise, as a warm hand took his, and he felt lips press against the cool skin of his palm.

"Isabel," he whispered - barely able to believe it. It must be a dream…

Tears were flowing, unchecked down her face, as she smiled weakly down at him. He heard her voice in his mind. ' _You big fat fucking idiot,'_ she scolded him - somehow sounding forlorn through the bizarre insult.

No, he was certainly not dreaming. Even his dying mind couldn't have concocted that particular phrase. "You must go," he said weakly. "Leave here, before the castle falls… and takes you with it. Then, you will never leave here… Not truly. Not ever." He coughed, hissed in pain, his fangs bared despite himself.

The darkness was edging closer, taking over his vision. He hissed in a pained breath, and knew there would not be another. "Leave me…"

' _I was never going anywhere.'_ She pulled him closer to her, resting him in her lap, her fingers entwining with his. Her other, still gently stroking his hair. Soothing him, as if he deserved such a thing. ' _I can't leave you. Not now, not ever.'_ Isabel leaned down and placed a kiss on his forehead. His eyes slipped closed, her words in his mind the last thing he knew before the darkness claimed him.

' _I'll be here when you wake. I love you...'_


	22. Epilogue

It was just as Lyon had said.

The castle crumbled - and yet, did not at the same time. Standing within it, she knew when it fell - knew when it exited the waking world, and took it, and everyone with it, into some… other place.

It was like a dream, that never ended. Time that stopped and seemed to drag on at once endlessly in both directions.

Had it been a week? A year? Three hundred years? It was impossible to tell. She had stopped trying.

Adrian had asked her to reconsider - asked her to join him in his escape of the castle as it collapsed. Before it consumed them both. But she couldn't leave - couldn't leave him there, dying on those steps, alone. Her heart was his, and she was bound to him, for all that it meant.

So she had hugged him, bid him the best of luck, and sent him on without her. He seemed both at once upset, and yet, relieved. Isabel could feel that there was a large part of him that rejoiced in seeing that she truly _did_ love Vlad. That she would stay there, with him, in this damnable place as it descended into wherever it _was_ that they now were.

There was no longer a forest past the intricate curling parapets and towers of the castle. In fact, there was nothing there _at all._ No moon, no stars dotted the sky. The castle was in a void of swirling… nothingness.

Isabel had found it horrifying at first. Lyon had tried to console her - tell her that yes, they were trapped here in some nether-realm of death… but it would fade in time. It always did.

At least she wasn't alone. The castle was, in its own twisted way, very much alive. The monsters, creatures and demons that called the place home seemed to bear her no ill will. In fact, several of them seemed to… defer to her, in some bizarre way. Called her 'Mistress' or, what-have-you. She had laughed silently when they did, and begged them not to. She was Isabel. Just Isabel. Nothing more.

So, she explored. Walked the castle, day after day, seeing all it had to offer. The portrait galleries that moved and talked to her and each-other. The forges where monsters toiled, hammers meeting steel, as they made the chains that moved the gigantic machinery that seemed to dominate so much of the archaic structure.

Isabel met a werewolf named Gregory, and a green-haired vampiress named Elizabeth who was, in some strange and bizarre fashion that she couldn't quite follow, Vlad's 'niece.'

Most importantly, there were two people that she couldn't live without.

Adam and Eric.

She met them, almost 'nightly' (if you could call it that, since there was no moon even to tell the cycle of time. It was really more or less just an agreed-upon schedule kept by the ticking of the gigantic clock tower.) for drinks, poker, dinner, games, what-have-you.

Laughing with them made her feel like this strange place could someday be like home. It was the only one she'd ever know, now.

One night, she had even talked the priest into joining them for games. Adam and Lyon hit it off, talking philosophy and history - while Eric made faces. It was the happiest she could remember being in a long, long time.

All except for two notable exceptions.

Tex - for whom the three of them had finally toasted and poured out a drink for their fallen companion - would forever be missed.

And another, whose presence was sorely lacking.

Every night was the same. After exploring, playing her guitar, reading, or what-have-you, it would always end the same way. She would place her hand upon a door, and shut her eyes. Asking the castle to take her where it knew she wanted to go.

Passing through the door, she shut it behind her. It was a door meant only for her. No one else would find it. It took her to a place that normally made no such concession. It was a vault, hidden somewhere deep. A crypt, with torches that burned and flickered their ever-present flame upon the walls. One with no other doors or windows.

It was his crypt.

The elegant and elaborate coffin sat on the dias in the center of the room, the shining black lacquer of the wood glinted in the flickering light. It shoen off the elegant gothic golden medallions and large cross that decorated the lid.

Every night, she walked to it, and lifted the lid. Every night, she'd look down at the man who lay within.

He looked as he ever had - still as a corpse. For a man who was never normally breathing, it was easy for her to pretend that he was only sleeping. Here, in the castle's netherworld, he never decayed like he had, when they had first met.

God, that felt like so long ago… and maybe now, it was.

Every night, she'd kick off her shoes, shrug out of her hoodie, and climb into the coffin next to him. She'd shut the lid over them, and she would curl up against him, winding her fingers into the fabric of his vest. He still smelled vaguely of roses.

Every night, she'd fall asleep like that, her head on his chest, and let herself believe the next day she'd awake to the day he'd return.

* * *

Isabel must still be dreaming.

Fingers were curled in her hair, and she felt an arm around her, holding her close. She shifted, not wanting to wake up. Not wanting it to go away.

Her eyes opened in the darkness as she felt the hand curling her hair around its fingers slide down her cheek, tilting her head up in the pitch black nothingness that was his coffin. Cool lips met hers in a tender, simple kiss, that was enough to wake her.

She lifted her head, expecting the dream to fade away like they always did. She pulled in a startled breath as cool lips touched her forehead. The creak of a lid, and light flooded the coffin.

She pushed herself up - propping herself onto one elbow. He was there. She was awake. Red eyes met her amber ones, and she smiled - laughing silently as she kissed him suddenly. Overjoyed.

He let out a chuckle against her lips and she felt him cup her face in his hand, thumb gently stroking her cheek. She broke the kiss after a long moment. When she looked down at him, he was smiling up at her faintly.

He sat up carefully, holding her as he did, cupping her face in his hands. _My Isabel,_ he said to her silently.

She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him to her tightly. She wanted to say so much to him - wanted to tell him how much she missed him. How much she loved him. How empty it felt without him there. But he knew. There was no need to say the words. He could feel it, all the same.

"If only in all my years, I could have been ushed through the gates of death and back with such a guardian at my side…" he whispered to her, his voice a low baritone rumble. "Perhaps happiness could have been mine far sooner."

If there was anything left of the ghost, it was buried deep, down within the vampire king. Isabel wasn't a fool - she knew that this was only the beginning of eternity with him. And that these moments of peace may only come few and far between. But she'd enjoy them while she had the chance.

' _I love you,'_ she said to him silently. Words she had said to him every night she spent in the castle, in the strange netherworld it resided while he lay dead.

He smiled gently to her, and he ran his lips slowly down her chin, to the crook of her neck. He was _starving._ His body was crying out for blood. It had laid dormant for so long, and now the pounding of her living essence beneath the skin was calling out to him.

She shifted, and tilted her head to the side, her hand moving to the back of his neck, tangling in his hair. Welcoming what used to terrify her so greatly. She let her eyes slide shut as she felt his teeth against her skin, his sharp fangs descending in his hunger. But not before he whispered to her again in adoration.

"My little dove…"

* * *

 **Ta-dah! There we have it. I hope you all enjoyed!**

 **I'll be starting up my next story, titled 'Halfway Between' in a few days. Keep an eye out! See y'all soon. :)**


	23. Chapter 23

Hello everybody!

I'm not dead. I promise. I thought I'd post a quick update (and a shameless plug.) All my spare time has been spent working on publishing my own dark fantasy/romance series. (Featuring a few familiar OC faces, including everybody's favorite, Lyon.)

If you're interested in reading my novel, the first of the six part series is available on Amazon and Kindle Unlimited. doesn't allow links, so just google search "King of Flames by Kathryn Ann Kingsley" and I should pop up.

Thanks again everyone, and I'll be back soon!

-Kat


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